Loyalty and Legend
by ParchmentRose
Summary: Kestral travels to Janub to help Hakim find the fabled royal regalia of Sahir al-Awan. But will what she finds there unite or divide the Knights of Darion?
1. Arrival

**Author's Note:** I would like to thank Blue Byte and Ubisoft for creating such a beautiful world. It's not every game that has me scurrying for the word processor, but this one grabbed me right from the start. The characters and situations in this story belong to them; thank you for letting me play in the sandbox. No pun intended.

It is recommended, but not required, that you have some prior familiarity with my other Settlers stories. It is strongly recommended that you read the oneshot "Of Folly and Flight" by Rockerduck before this story, as some events later in the storyline will make little sense if you don't know what happens in that story.

Rated T for battle violence. I probably could get away with K+, but better safe then sorry.

* * *

**- Chapter One -**

_"And since you know you cannot see yourself,__  
__so well as by reflection, I, your glass,__  
__will modestly discover to yourself,__  
__that of yourself which you yet know not of."  
William Shakespeare_

Finally she could get off this boat.

It wasn't as if she minded going on missions for the Darion Empire. Lady Kestral of Gallos was always ready for action. It was just that standing on a deck for two weeks got a bit boring after the novelty of ocean travel wore off.

The northern shoreline of Sahir al-Awan was close now. Red cliffs against a blue sky, a few scrubby trees. A gap in the cliffs nearby appeared as a door into the trackless sand that was the deserts of Janub. A more inhospitable and unattractive environment was hard to imagine.

Kestral squinted up at the cliffs. A structure of some sort stood aloof atop the western cliff; but it was hardly civilisation. The building, whatever it had once been, was falling into ruins. Piles of stone lay tumbled around the once proud walls. A testimony to what Janub had become. A once glorious civilisation now in hopeless disrepair.

Movement. A dark shadow flickered amongst the stones. Kestral raised her hand to her eyes and stared out. Yes. A figure on horseback, enveloped in a black cloak. Lord Hakim Abd-Al Sar of the Knights of Darion. It was his request for reinforcements that she was answering now. No, scratch that. Not request, demand. Summons. The lone representative of Janub amongst the Knights was getting mighty imperious. But a request for aid could not be ignored, and none of the other knights - or Her Majesty, come to think of it - seemed to mind.

The mounted figure disappeared from view. Kestral turned to the captain of the vessel. An obsequious little man with graying hair and a wiry frame, Captain Horne had ferried Kestral about the oceans of Altdarios before.

"Captain, would you be so kind as to let us off at that beach there?" she said with a jerk of her head towards the door to the desert.

The small man bowed. "Aye, Lady Kestral."

The object of this sentence groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you to quit the 'Lady' stuff?"

Horne grinned. "Probably a few more, ma'am."

"And don't bow, either."

Horne laughed, turned and began to issue orders to the crew in an impressive bellow. The tattered but disciplined men set to their tasks with an enthusiasm and efficiency that Kestral admired professionally as she leaned against the rail. If only all of Darion's troops were this good.

A gangly man in leather armor emerged from the hatchway below and approached Kestral. "Shall we prepare to disembark, Lady Kestral?"

Kestral nodded formally. "Yes, Lieutenant Refec." She paused, weighing up the requirements in her head. Logistics had never been her strong point. "We'll need a least a week's worth of food, all the gold, and each man should bring all his possessions. We could be in the area a while." She ended the sentence with a note of finality, dismissing him. Her archer captain saluted and began to stride away, but she recalled him as another thought occurred. "And I'll need Dutch," she added, referring to her mount who had been imprisoned below decks for the past fortnight awaiting their arrival.

Refec saluted again and jogged below decks. Shouting, banging and movement could soon be heard. Kestral smiled, turning back to the clifftops. Official military command was still new enough that the novelty had not yet worn off. Her bandit troops had not been nearly so unquestioningly obedient.

Lord Hakim had appeared again, riding across the desert toward the beach. She waved casually, and the distant figure raised one hand in silent acknowledgement of her salute.

***

Ten minutes later, Kestral was seated in the sternsheets of a crammed rowboat. Nine of her archers manned the oars. Another boat about ten feet away, rowing at the same pace, contained ten men. The three battlions she had brought to reinforce Lord Hakim, under Lieutenant Refec. Alongside her vessel swam an extremely disgruntled Dutch. The little black mare snorted as Kestral tugged gently on her leadrope.

Shw laughed. "Get over yourself, you nutty horse. You'll soon be on shore."

As if those were magic words, Dutch plunged forward. The rope ripped painfully from Kestral's hands as the horse swam ahead of the boat. She quickly gained a foothold on the sand and galloped forward. Great. Now she'd make a break for it and Kestral would be horseless.

Lord Hakim, waiting on shore, wheeled his mount into the path of the runaway pony and reached for the loose rope. He caught it in his gloved hand and sat up, using the weight of his horse to halt Dutch. The little mare hauled uselessly for a few moments, then settled, resigned; gazing placidly off into the distance.

Kestral leapt from the rowboat as they came near the shore and sloshed through the shallow water onto the beach. Lord Hakim, seated on his black stallion, nodded to her slightly.

Kestral grinned. "Thanks - I don't know what I would've done if -"

He cut her off with a raised hand. "I assume there are more troops coming from the ship? Or in a few days?"

"Why, I'm doing fine, Lord Hakim, thanks for asking. The journey was lovely, and you needn't show such concern for my welfare."

"Lady Kestral."

"Everyone else is great, since you ask," Kestral continued, voice soaked in sarcasm. "Marcus has almost stopped limping, which he is absolutely ecstatic about - he'll be glad you're so concerned. And -"

"Lady Kestral."

"Fine." She sighed theatrically, but her exasperation with his seeming inhumanity was real. Did the man ever make small talk? "This is it."

"This is it?" Lord Hakim sounded faintly incredulous, and his expression matched his tone.

"This is it. Three battlions, plus Lieutenant Refec and me."

"Could you not bring more?"

Kestral tapped her foot impatiently. "In case you'd forgotten, there's a war in Raudrlin as well. We don't exactly have troops to spare. It was all the Queen could manage to redirect this one vessel."

Hakim's features settled into an expression of resignation. "So be it, then. We shall have to make do." He handed down Dutch's leadrope. Kestral accepted it and vaulted lightly onto her back without bothering with a saddle.

"What's so important, then?" she asked. "Why the imperious summons? And the alleged desperate and urgent need for support?"

Hakim nudged his mount into a smooth trot. Kestral gave Dutch a swift kick and bounced along easily beside him.

"Well ..." said Hakim slowly, and so quietly she had to strain her ears. "The Sahir region of Janub is ruled by the Desert Raiders, a group of bandits who -" His face twisted into a bitter smile. "Are not exactly ideal leaders."

"I'll bet." Kestral had come a long way from being insulted whenever bandits were belittled in her company. Yes, she had been one for years, but she was not so much a fool as to imagine them an effective standalone army - let alone a proper government.

"Sahir al-Awan is officially ruled by a prince, but he is not yet of age. The regent of Sahir al-Awan wishes to cement his royal charge's claim to the throne in these parts, and to do that he will need the support of the Desert Raiders. It is in the Darion Empire's interests to make sure this prince makes it to the throne - he is likely to be a reasonably stable ally."

Kestral scoffed. "You imagine that a kid would be a stable ally?" She huffed as Hakim raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay, whatever. So we have to woo these raiders on his behalf, right?"

Hakim hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Then - woah ..."

She jerked on Dutch's leadrope suddenly, causing the little mare to kick out. Kestral ignored her as she stared out at the sight before her.

The desert stretched out as far as the eye could see. Rolling hills of red sand were interrupted occasionally by an outcropping of rock or a cliff top, standing proud in the sunlight. Far to the southwest, a blur of green and blue at the base of one of the cliffs proclaimed the presence of an oasis. Between them and that little spot of paradise was a huge, deep depression in the sand. Worn grey stone walls jutted half out of the depression floor; interspersed between the ancient structures were a few tents. Dark shapes, like ants, were scuttling around the bases of the walls. Above it all, the white sun gleamed in a blinding blue sky. She amended her earlier thoughts. Inhospitable, perhaps. Unattractive? No way.

She turned to Hakim and grinned. "Nice country you've got here."

He laughed heartily, startling her. But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise at all.

She realised she was staring at him.

"So ..." she said awkwardly. "What are we supposed to be doing, then?"

Hakim turned his eyes back to the desert. "There's a legend in this land -"

She groaned. "Once upon a time ..."

He cleared his throat meaningfully. "A legend about a set of ancient royal regalia, lost to time in the sands of the desert."

"You almost make it sound poetic."

"You may be sceptical, Lady Kestral, but to the people of this land, it is true enough. And their desperation in this troubled time has inspired them to start digging."

"To where? Narlind?"

Hakim ignored her sarcasm, nudging his horse back into a trot down the sandy slope. Kestral glanced behind her before following. Good; Refec and the troops had unloaded the caravel and were starting to follow.

"Three local tribes - the Twanzur, the Jum'am, and the Tijah - have started digging in the prophesied locations. The regent of Sahir wishes me - I apologise, _us_ - to liaise with the tribes and claim the regalia on behalf of his prince."

Kestral ignored his slip. It was his homeland, so he _would_ think of it as his mission alone. Forgivable, if annoying. "What's in it for us?"

Hakim turned in his saddle to face her full on, exasperation showing in his face. "A powerful ally, Lady Kestral. With the Desert Raiders at his back, the Prince of Sahir could sweep across Janub and take the whole. This continent could be united for the first time since before the days of Dario. And having the ruler of the Janubian Empire feel indebted towards the Queen of Westerlin could count for much."

Kestral could see the enthusiasm in his face - the way his eyes lit up as he described this dreamed-of future situation, the way he gestured to the air with one hand as he trotted along. He wanted this badly, she could tell, and something like envy stole up into her breast. She had no real homeland to fight for; she'd migrated between Narlind and Gallos so much as a child she had no real loyalty to any one place. She'd never had a land she loved and whose ideals she could believe in and uphold. Suddenly, she was unreasonably jealous of Hakim's zeal.

"So, we get the regalia from the tribes. Then what?" she asked, attempting to control her emotions.

"We deliver them to the regent in the city of Jumajir."

"Easy as pie. Where do we start?"

"I believe the best approach would be to visit the Twanzur excavation," he replied, gesturing towards the ruins below. "Then travel southeast and camp at the Sabralat Coast tonight."

Kestral exhaled deeply. "Easy as pie. Let's get going!" She urged Dutch into a smooth canter and charged off towards the distant tents, leaving Hakim to order the soldiers. Dutch was spoiling for a gallop, and she was scarcely less eager to have the run of the desert sands.


	2. Bargaining

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the wait; I kept getting distracted by other stories. Thanks for your patience!

* * *

Kestral's legs wrapped tightly around the bare sides of her mount. She clung to her wiry black mane as the pony stumbled, then slowed.

Dutch was slogging through the sand as if it was deep snow, unable to move faster than a trot now that they were in the softer sand dunes. Kestral grimaced, urging her steed on in vain.

An amused chuckle came from behind her. "Not used to the terrain, Lady Kestral?"

She refused to turn around. She wasn't going to give the Janubian the satisfaction of seeing her frustration. "I'm coping fine, thank you, Lord Hakim," she said through gritted teeth.

A bay stallion came alongside her struggling mount, practically floating across the desert sands. The black-cloaked rider's face was arranged in a mocking smile. "The mare will adjust in time; but might I suggest acquiring a more experienced horse at Sabralant until she does?"

Kestral shook her head. "No thank you. Dutch and I will manage fine." She gave the mare a sharp little kick and hung on as Dutch began to jog down the sandy slope. At the bottom lay the Twanzur excavation.

Soon she was in amongst the walls and the hive of activity that was the excavation site. The ancient stonework contrasted oddly with the lively buzzing of the camp. It seemed as if the ruins were dead, swarmed over by flies seeking to profit from it.

But were they dead? Or just sleeping, waiting to be awakened by the revival of Janub?

She shook her head sharply. "You're letting Mr. Legend's enthusiasm infect you," she scolded herself in a whisper.

As if her thoughts had conjured him into being, Hakim brought his horse up alongside hers again. He nodded at one of the workers, who was looking up at them in awe. "Our arrival will soon be acknowledged, I expect."

Kestral murmured an agreement, looking around curiously.

A few tents, battered and brown with exposure to the elements, were scattered between the ruined walls. About twenty men, ragged but efficient, scuttled around between these tents and the largest of the ruined structures. It was like the base of a tower, or the foundation of an old fortification. One crumbling side was reinforced with timber planks.

Hakim followed Kestral's gaze. "That would be the tower from the legend," he said softly. She turned to him; his eyes were lit up and somehow dreamy all at the same time. As if a favourite childhood story was coming true. Which, she supposed, it was.

"What tower?"

His gaze snapped back into focus. "When the regalia was separated - shortly after the death of the famed King Dario - the three pieces were separated and kept hidden in the desert. The crown was looked after by a cloister, the orb buried in a mountain cave, and the sceptre -" he nodded towards the ruins - "guarded in a tower."

"According to the legend, of course."

He cleared his throat. "Of course."

A figure exited the tent and began to approach them. His head was enveloped in a white hood, rather like Hakim's. He strode purposefully, as if to say he knew exactly what he wanted.

Hakim half-bowed respectfully, still in the saddle. The man looked up at him critically. His hooked nose was held high. Kestral was reminded of Alandra during her worst fits of superiority.

He said something Janubian in greeting. His tone was harsh and accusing. Hakim responded in the same language, in much softer tones, and dismounted.

Kestral dropped to the ground, sinking up to her ankles in the soft sand. She hoped that none got into her boots - it'd probably never come out.

The two men conversed for a few moments in their own language. Kestral tapped on her leg impatiently.

"Oi, not to rain on your parade, but could you say something I actually understand?" she snapped. Hakim turned to her, eyebrows raised, but he complied. "This is Lady Kestral of the Darion Empire, Sabar. She is my associate in this venture."

_Associate???_ Kestral almost berated him, but resisted the impulse. She could tick him off later, when it was less likely to harm their mission. Janubian society viewed women as inferior and servile; a female commander would never be taken seriously.

Instead, she nodded slightly. Sabar returned her nod, but with a slightly sceptical expression. He turned back to Hakim. This time he spoke in heavily accented Westerlin.

"I fear that yours is the second offer we have received, Effendi," he informed them. "We must, of course, deliver the sceptre to the first bidder."

Hakim's eyes widened; he tensed. "Who made this offer, if I might be so bold as to ask?"

"I cannot disclose that information," Sabar said pompously. He paused. "But if you were able to make a more flattering proposal, I may be able to - shall we say - alter my previous bargain."

Every sensibility of Kestral's revolted at the thought of paying this snake off. This legend was deeply important to the Janubian people, and he was willing to sell the throne to the highest bidder.

"How much are you asking?" said Hakim stiffly. He probably felt the same way.

"One thousand gold pieces."

Kestral drew breath sharply. "You can't be serious!" she said, forgetting all diplomacy. "That would run a small city for a year!"

Sabar shrugged. "We encountered many costs during the digging. And we must make a profit."

"But that's just insane -" Before she could say more, Hakim grabbed her arm, pulling her a few steps aside. His tone was gruff.

"How much do we have?"

"Six hundred gold pieces. But we can't bid it all. What if we need to pay the others off as well?"

Hakim appeared to be considering this question. Before he came to a conclusion, another thought popped into Kestral's head. "Wait a mo'. We haven't seen this sceptre yet. For all we know, he's lying and he hasn't found it yet." _If it's even there,_ she added silently.

Hakim nodded. "You are right." He turned back to Sabar. "I hesitate to insinuate deception, but could we see the object in question before committing to a course of action?"

Sabar bowed. "Of course, Effendi." He turned to the throng of curious observers and snapped out an order. Two men raced off towards a nearby tent.

A moment later they returned, one of them bearing a long stick-like object wrapped in tattered white cloth. Sabar took it brusquely, turning to Hakim and holding it out. "Inspect it if you wish."

Hakim hesitated for a long moment, then reached out, taking the bundle. He weighed it in his hand, then slowly unwound the cloth. Kestral watched, tense. She'd mentioned asking for proof of the sceptre because she believed the regalia didn't exist. But if that was the actual sceptre -

The fabric fell away, revealing a gold staff. At the top was an intricate carving of a lion, studded with precious stones. The more rational part of Kestral's mind told her it had been polished by the excavators, but she couldn't help but think that magic had kept it clean all these years so that it shone in the sun now.

Kestral dragged her eyes away from the sceptre to Hakim's face. A mixture of childlike wonder, awe, and triumph glittered in his eyes, though his other features remained impassive. For a moment, she was irritated. Why was he getting so excited? Sure, it was beautiful, and probably extremely valuable, but ...

_But nothing._ If she had something to believe in - a cause that she cared about - she'd be excited too.

Sabar held his hand out. Hakim returned it reluctantly.

"So," the white-cloaked Janubian said coolly. "Do you wish to pay?"

"We will pay you five hundred gold pieces."

Sabar laughed derisively. Kestral's heart sank. "That is most amusing, Effendi. The previous offer was much higher."

Fantastic. "That's the most we're giving you," she snapped. "Who _is_ this other mystery person, anyway? I think you're just making him up to get us to bid more."

He shook his head with a wry grin. "No, Lady Kidrel."

"Kestral."

"I apologize. But my offer stands. If you will not pay the money, then I must send the sceptre to your rivals."

This time it was Kestral's turn to pull Hakim aside. "Are there villages near here? We could get them to raise the money, help pay -"

"There is a village near here. But I doubt that a full ransack of the place would yield more than fifty gold pieces."

Kestral groaned. "So we're stuck." She looked apologetically at Hakim. The mission was over before it had even started. She didn't care so much for herself - she had no emotional stake. But Hakim did.

To her surprise, he did not look disappointed. There was a glint in his eye. "No, we are not. I do have one more card to play, as Lord Thordal would put it."

"What? We take it by force?"

He frowned slightly. "This is not a matter for levity, Lady Kestral."

"I was serious."

He ignored her. "I had hoped I would not have to do this. But if we have no choice -" His gaze drifted to Sabar - no, to the sceptre in Sabar's hands. Abruptly he strode back to their bargaining opponent.

"May I speak to you in private for a moment, Effendi?"

Sabar inclined his head, gesturing towards the tent. The two men walked over towards it. Kestral went to follow them, but Hakim turned and frowned at her, shaking his head.

"Fine." She folded her arms and waited sulkily outside. Despite her best efforts at eavesdropping, she couldn't make anything out. They were probably speaking Janubian anyway.

How could Hakim treat her like this? She was a Knight of Darion as well - had been for longer than him, in fact! And he'd still be rotting in a prison in Narlind if it wasn't for her. Just because this was his country, he thought he was in charge. Well, he was mistaken. Kestral wasn't beaten yet.

The two men emerged. Hakim's expression was unreadable. Sabar was staring at him with an expression halfway between awe and fear.

"We have reached an agreement," Hakim announced in his usual clipped tones. "Five hundred gold pieces. If you would be so good as to bring the gold, Lieutenant," he said over Kestral's shoulders, where Refec was standing waiting. Kestral had been so buried in her own thoughts she hadn't even seen her men arrive.

Refec saluted and marched off to one of the newly arrived carts, barking orders. The men began to unload the chests.

Kestral stared at Hakim, mind whirling. "How ... ?"

Hakim shook his head briefly, before turning back to Sabar and speaking to him cordially in their language. Kestral's cheeks burned. He was doing it again! She silently promised herself that if he did it again, she'd thump him.

The exchange was quickly made. Hakim wrapped the sceptre carefully and placed it in the cart with his own hands, securing it amongst the supplies so it did not slip as the cart moved. Kestral gathered her saddle and bridle and tacked Dutch properly. The little mare had been standing patiently where Kestral had left her, sweating in the hot sun. Kestral realised that she was too - the heat burned against her bare shoulders. She'd be bright red in the morning.

Not that that was her concern right now. She had a few words to say to Mr. High and Mighty first.


	3. Storms

**Author's Note:** Sorry this is so late. I thought I'd put it up, but I hadn't. Hopefully Chapter Four will be a bit more prompt!

* * *

Within ten minutes, the soldiers of Darion were riding west, leaving the Twanzur excavation behind. The carts, pulled by donkey and guarded by the men, moved slowly across the sand. Kestral didn't envy the poor animals forced to drag them. She glanced to her side at Hakim. He rode his stallion at a calm walk, a slight smile on his face. The smile deepened slightly as he noticed her eyes on him.

"I shall refrain from - how would Lord Marcus put it? - rubbing it in," he said. The smugness in his tone was unmistakable. And infuriating.

"Yeah, all right, your little legends are all true," she conceded. "But that doesn't mean you can order me around."

"What?"

"You've been bossing me around since I stepped on shore here. Ignoring me, shutting me out of negotiations, calling me your _associate. _What gives?"

He sighed faintly. "In Janubian society, it is the men that conduct missions such as these. It would be offensive to many here if you were to hold an equal position to me."

"So? You're not representing Janubian society, you're representing the Darion Empire." It was all Kestral could do to avoid shouting. "What did you tell Mr. Pompous back there? One moment he didn't think we were fit to milk the camels, the next he was practically bowing and scraping at your feet."

Hakim was silent for a long moment, lips pressed firmly together, face unreadable. "Lady Kestral, there are some things that I am not at liberty to divulge."

Kestral glared at him, attempting to bore through to his brain with her eyes. "_Lord_ Hakim, either you 'divulge' your methods of persuasion, or I'll be returning to Westerlin with a report that'll get you exiled, banished and kicked out of the country."

His lips twisted in amusement. "A little redundant, my dear girl."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm not your 'dear girl'. I'm a Knight of Darion, a title you don't deserve right now. Cooperate, or I'm going home."

He looked her full in the face now. His expression was blank, but there was something odd in his eyes. Apology? Regret? Pleading? Whatever. He'd have to grovel for a year for her to accept an apology right now. All the increasingly furious knight wanted was for him to recognise she had a brain too.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "But I honestly cannot say."

Kestral sucked in a breath of hot desert air. "Fine. See ya in Vestholm. I'll enjoy your court martial." She tugged on the reins and whirled her pony, setting off north again at a rolling gallop. Dutch had adjusted to the sand now; the rush of wind in her ears and the roar of the shifting desert surface rendered Hakim's shouts a blur.

_That'll teach him to call my bluff,_ she thought smugly. Refec would follow her - he was under her command alone, not Hakim's. They'd go back to the caravel, sail back to Westerlin and report Hakim's intractable behaviour to Her Majesty.

Hakim stared with growing dismay at the cloud of dust that concealed Kestral's departing horse. He opened his mouth to call after her again, but his better judgement told him it was useless. Kestral would never listen to him under these circumstances. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd get very far. The caravel was probably gone by now; she'd get to the beach and then have to find her way back to Sabralat. He'd let her have her hissy fit, and then ...

His thoughts paused as something on the horizon caught his eye. He squinted. A dust cloud of some sort, to the west, swirling inexorably towards

them. _Oh, wonderful_. A sand storm. If they didn't prepare quickly, they'd be caught in the middle and torn to shreds.

He whirled his horse. "Lieutenant," he shouted back to Refec, "I don't wish to alarm you, but there is a sand storm approaching to the west."

Even from this distance, Hakim fancied he could see Refec go white under his rapidly developing sunburn. The junior officer turned to the west and shielded his eyes against the sun. "I see, sir," he said with poorly-suppressed panic.

"Lieutenant," said Hakim as calmly as possible. "Form a wall with the carts, and get the men down behind them. Have everyone cover their eyes and mouths. Whatever you do, do not attempt to move."

"Yes, sir," answered Refec, immediately barking orders to the men.

Hakim looked back to the north. Kestral and Dutch were a speck on the horizon. There was no way the girl from Westerlin could survive a Janubian dust storm without serious injury. It would reach her in about two minutes - could he make it in time?

He'd have to.

He jabbed his heels into the flanks of his mount and grabbed the black mane as they both sprung forward.

_Rats._

Kestral mentally smacked herself. Of course, the caravel would be gone by now. They were going further up the shore for a fresh water source, stocking up, then coming back to meet them again in a couple of days. There was no way she could ride fast enough to catch them tonight, and she had no supplies, so following them along the shore any distance was out of the question.

_This is gonna be great for my dignity_, she groaned inwardly. So much for her dramatic gallop away from the caravan. She tugged on the reins a little, slowing Dutch to a canter. Should she turn back? It would give Wise Boy plenty of bait, but she couldn't survive on her own. Her bare arms felt like they were on fire; she dreaded to think what the burn was going to look like in the morning. Maybe someone in this Sabralat place would know some sunburn remedies. And she was getting pretty thirsty. Yeah, she needed to turn back.

_No_, piped up her pride. _Shan't_. If she came crawling back now, it would completely undermine every point she'd made to his high and mightiness earlier. Let him come looking for her. She was descended from a Narlindir and a Gallos bandit, for crying out loud - she could survive one night. Hadn't she seen an oasis to the southwest?

She pulled Dutch to a stop and spun the little mare around, raising her hand to her eye. But there was no oasis. Just endless sand dunes ... no, a swirling cloud of sand. Moving very very fast.

_Double rats._

Snowstorms she could handle. Hail, rain, sleet, whatever, she'd faced it all before. Except she'd never faced a sandstorm. What in the world was she going to do?

Dust was beginning to whirl up around her now. She coughed involuntarily, blinking as the dust stung her eyes. This hadn't made it into her briefings. Dutch shifted restlessly and snorted; Kestral tried to calm her. Could they outrun it? It was moving pretty fast, but Dutch was getting used to the terrain.

She made up her mind and spun Dutch around, spurring her on due east and away from the sandstorm. The flying sand stung against her burnt arms; the air was thick with the tiny grains. She jabbed her heels into Dutch's flanks again. They needed to go faster if -

Kestral slid not-so-gracefully to the ground as Dutch stumbled, twirled, and disappeared into the gathering dust. Kestral yelled after her - or rather tried to, as her mouth immediately filled with sand. She spat it out gracelessly, trying to shield her eyes as she knelt on the ground. Her visor was worse than useless: the sand was getting into it.

Within moments, the storm had surrounded her completely. The wind roared in her ears; she had to close her eyes. Now she understood the reason for Wise Boy's cloak.

Kestral forced herself to open her eyes just for one moment, and was rewarded with the sight of almost nothing and one of the more painful moments of her life. She could pretty much only see whirling dust. But had there been something else?

Knowing she'd regret it, she opened her eyes a crack again while shielding them with her hand. _There!_ A dark shape moving through the storm. She hadn't been imagining it. She began to struggle to her feet.

"Get down!" came an urgent yell. She obeyed meekly. A few seconds later, she felt a hand on her shoulder and something shoved into her hand. Hakim's cloak, she realised. She covered her face as best she could and waited.


	4. Causes

**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter is so short; I'm trying to put the cliffhangers in the most dramatically appropriate places.

* * *

"Ouch," murmured Kestral as she dismounted. Her sunburn was stinging like crazy, particularly now that it had been aggravated by the sand.

Dutch had been easy to recapture after the storm, but a right pain to ride. She'd spooked at every motion of the sand. Kestral had been forced to ride her about twenty paces to windward of the rest of the caravan simply to stop her spooking at the dust kicked up by the other animals.

Now, the tiny little mare was practically dancing on the spot. Kestral grabbed at the reins and tried to walk her forward, but Dutch had evidently decided today was Do the Opposite of Everything Kestral Says Day. She flung her head up and shot backwards, towing Kestral along in her wake.

"Woah." A black-clad arm reached past Kestral and took the leather reins in a firm grip. Almost immediately, Dutch settled and stood on the spot with a placid huff.

Kestral took comfort in the fact that her burns would hide the obvious signs of her embarrassment. "Thanks."

Hakim nodded briefly and handed the leads back to her. "Are you all right?"

"Sore, but alive." His concern would have been touching if it hadn't been highly suspicious. "You?"

"Perfectly fine." He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were lucky. People have died in less dangerous storms. I would suggest you think before riding off alone."

Kestral opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Yes, he was infuriating. Yes, he deserved all the verbal abuse she had been about to dish out. But she owed him her life.

She swallowed. "Thank you. For saving my skin."

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across Hakim's eyes. "You're welcome." The Janubian refastened his cloak, which was only slightly the worse for wear, and sauntered into the centre of Sabralant.

To call Sabralant a town would be the understatement of the century, Kestral reflected. The entire village was nestled in the narrow gap between a rocky cliff and the sea. Half a dozen or so ramshackle buildings were grouped around a lone well. There was no need to clear a road: the dirt was already packed tight. The only real colour was a few scattered and struggling trees. A few adults and children were bustling around, eyeing the strangers nervously.

Hakim had walked over to an elderly man standing by the well, and was now engaged in animated conversation. Kestral turned to Refec, who stood, respectful and ready as usual, by the nearest cart. At least there was someone she could rely on.

"Pitch the tents, Lieutenant. We'll be staying here tonight."

"Yes, ma'am." Refec saluted and walked out of speaking range before she could scold him for calling her "ma'am".

Kestral took a few steps towards the well, but before she'd made much progress Hakim met her in the middle.

"I'm going to go on a brief scout," he announced. "I'll be back in about two hours."

"Oh, so I'm just expected to sit here, then?"

"That was the situation I had envisioned. The tents will be up in any moment, and my friend over there tells me that food will be made available for us at the storehouse. Of course, if you'd prefer to stay out in the desert sun, be my guest."

She had to admit he had a point. Her sunburn probably couldn't get any worse, but she didn't want to take the risk. "Fine, I'll stay and make camp."

"May I make a suggestion for while you're waiting?"

She eyed him warily. "Depends what it is."

"I recommended finding some clothing that is slightly more practical for this climate."

Kestral bristled. "Is there something wrong with my armor?"

"Not further north. But here, I'm afraid it invites both sunburn and disapproval. Several people here have already commented on your unusual attire."

"I'm not going to wear some daft hood and cloak just to satisfy the locals," she snapped.

"Lady Kestral, it would be much wiser -"

"I don't care," she said stubbornly. "I've worn this armor in Narlind, Westerlin and Raudrlin. I'm not about to change for Janub."

He shrugged philosophically. "It is your decision, of course. If you will excuse me, I must be off if I am to return before dark." He turned, strode purposefully over to his horse and mounted. She stalked off in the direction of the storehouse.

"Lady Kestral?"

She turned and planted her hands on her hips. "Yes, Lord Hakim?"

"Try to avoid doing anything that would necessitate my having to rescue you."

She concealed her swiftly building fury and saluted ironically. "Aye aye, sir."

As Hakim galloped away, Kestral wandered over towards the storehouse. Unlike the giant storehouse in Vestholm, it was scarcely bigger than a barn. The door was hanging open. Both the prospect of shade and food was very tempting. An urchin bumped into her hip as she came near the doorway.

You don't spend most of your life as a bandit without becoming a skilled pickpocket. Conversely, you don't become a skilled pickpocket without learning how to spot and combat other thieves. Kestral spun and grabbed the boy's arm, dropping into a crouch so she was at his eye level.

The boy was dark-haired and deeply tanned, like most of the people of Janub. He tried to pull away, eyes wide.

"Nice try, kid." She held out her free hand. He reluctantly dropped a small leather bag into it. Kestral felt it experimentally. Exactly the same weight as it had been ten seconds earlier when it had been strapped to her belt.

"Thank you very much." At her words, the boy yanked at her arm again. She tightened her grip.

"Can you understand me?" she asked carefully. The kid nodded shakily.

"Good." She hesitated, then bent a little closer to him. "I know when you're just a kid, pickpocketing seems like a good option. Quick way of getting a meal, a little extra cash, whatever. And if you're good, you don't get caught." She paused, trying to find words. "But one day, you'll find something to believe in. A girl you like, maybe, or a cause that's really worth fighting for. Then you'll wish you'd never stolen a copper coin." She loosened her grip slightly, but he didn't run. "Be a thief now, and it'll come back to bite you. Just think about it."

She released his arm fully, and the boy sprinted away. She stood slowly. For some strange reason, she felt slightly better.

Some time later, Kestral was sprawled out on the floor of her tent with a map of the immediate area. She pursed her lips as she marked the excavation sites with her quill. Assuming this map and Hakim's description of the sites earlier had been accurate, it would only take two hours or so to visit the Twanzur excavation. They could go there first thing tomorrow. That said, maybe it would be wiser to visit the Jum'am excavation first, then loop back. She twiddled her wooden dividers across the map's surface experimentally.

Not that Hakim would listen to her advice on routes anyway. He'd just go whatever way he thought was best. But he was probably justified in that, she admitted grudgingly to herself. This _was_ his homeland, after all. He probably knew every sand dune.

She stood up and stretched, then peered out the tent flap. The sun was setting over the western sea in a blaze of red and orange. Fine weather tomorrow, then. Kestral almost regretted that: a bit of rain would be more than welcome.

"Lady Kestral!"

She turned. "Yes, lieutenant?"

Refec strode over to where she stood in the doorway to her tent. "When did Lord Hakim say he would be returning?" he asked, voice lowered.

"He said he'd be around two hours. How long has it been?"

"Three."

Unbidden, Kestral's stomach twisted. She swallowed. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing," she said as calmly as she could.

Refec nodded. "With respect, ma'am, that's why I'm worried. I was speaking to the village elder over there, and he said only fools travel the desert at night."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be here before long."

The lieutenant bowed and walked away. Kestral chewed her lip. Hakim might be insufferable, but he wasn't an idiot. If everything had gone according to plan, he'd be back by now.

Where _was_ he?


	5. Waits

**Correction:** Kestral's reference to Twanzur in the previous chapter should read Tijah. My bad.

* * *

The sun had set fully over two hours ago, and the last vestiges of twilight had crawled reluctantly from the sky. Sabralant hummed softly: faint traces of sound drifted from the houses around the tiny well. The Darion forces' camp, however, was silent. The men had all gone to bed; tomorrow promised to be long and tiring.

The only two awake were by the main tent. Lieutenant Refec and Lady Kestral sat in the near dark, a single candle stub propped up in the sand. All accounted for. Except one.

Kestral hugged her legs.

"How long?" she asked softly.

"Five hours now."

She bit her lip.

It was rather disturbing how much she was worried about Mr. High and Mighty right now. But an analysis of her emotions was low on her priority list.

"I'm sure there's no need to be concerned," Refec said lamely after a moment.

"Then why are you out here waiting?" she snapped, then tugged awkwardly at her headscarf. "Sorry."

"Apology unnecessary, ma'am."

Kestral shifted uncomfortably and looked up. The night was completely clear; the moon and stars rendered the candle redundant. There was no way a Janubian native like Hakim could get lost under these conditions. Something had to have happened to him.

That, or he hadn't told her the truth about when he'd be back.

No. He might be arrogant, but he wasn't a fool.

She toyed with the idea of going looking for him, then caught herself. Was she crazy or something? Going out into the desert at night was dangerous for him, suicide for her. She needed to accomplish the mission, and getting herself killed wouldn't help at all.

Having eliminated that possibility, she settled down to wait again. Thirty seconds later she was standing and pacing next to the tent.

Forget the mission. He could be anywhere. His horse could have tossed him, he could have been waylaid by bandits, he could be lying dead somewhere in the desert ...

She wheeled around, opening her mouth to inform Refec of her plan, but the words died on her lips. Almost a mile away, barely visible in the moonlight, a small cloud of dust was moving towards them.

Refec saw it a moment after she did and scrambled to his feet. "Is that him, Lady Kestral?"

She shrugged, trying and failing to suppress the relieved grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Unless you know of any other knights in the immediate area likely to ride up here."

The cloud came gradually closer, eventually coalescing into the form of a horse and rider. Yes, definitely him. Kestral stepped forward and away from the tent as he grew near.

Now that he was obviously perfectly safe, her anxiety had cooled and been replaced by irritation. He'd just wandered off without telling anyone where he was going and severely endangered the mission. She gritted her teeth for a brief moment.

"You better have a good reason for disappearing like that!" she called out.

He didn't respond. He pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted carelessly, then walked over.

Kestral planted her hands on her hips. "Well?"

He was close enough now that she could see his face. He looked completely drained. Understandable, if he'd been riding for five hours. But that wasn't the main thing that caught her attention.

Something was missing.

"What happened to your cape?"

"Lost it," he said briefly, passing the reins to Refec, who saluted and led the exhausted horse off to the well.

"_Lost_ it? How do you lose a cape?"

"Surprisingly easily." He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing awake?"

"Waiting for you, dumbo. You said you'd be back before sunset!"

"Did I?" He shrugged. "My apologies."

It took all of Kestral's self control to avoid slapping him then and there. She took a deep breath. "What on earth were you doing?"

One of Hakim's eyebrows joined the other in the centre of his forehead. "Scouting. I believe I may have informed you of my intentions in that regard, though it is difficult for me to remember as that was some hours ago. If you'll excuse me, I think I shall attempt to get some sleep. We shall depart for the Jum'am excavation at dawn."

With that, he strode off to his tent, leaving her silently fuming.

...

Kestral winced as the leather made contact with her raw red skin. She slowly pulled her jerkin on, gasping as it rubbed against her sunburn. Maybe Wise Boy's suggestion of different clothing wasn't such a bad idea.

As she reached across the camp bed for her green headscarf, someone knocked on the tent flap. Well, that was clearly the intention, but the result was a momentary rippling and waving of the fabric.

"Who is it?" she mumbled, trying to untie yesterday's knot in the scarf with her teeth. She really shouldn't leave it overnight. Particularly not with sand in it.

"Me." There was a definite undercurrent of embarrassment in Hakim's voice. She suppressed a laugh. "Are you decent?"

"Uh huh." She finally pulled the knot free. "Come in."

The tent flap lifted, and the Janubian appeared in the opening, shadowy in the pre-dawn light. He was holding a bundle of white fabric.

"Well?" she asked, tucking the scarf under her hair and looping it around. "What's that?"

"It's a tunic. Sort of." He held it out.

She finished tying her scarf and took it. "Your point?"

"I thought you may like to wear it over your ordinary clothing." He indicated the long sleeves. "You would sacrifice none of your armour, and you might avoid further burns."

She eyed him suspiciously and held it up. The sleeves were long, yes, but the skirt was short. She'd be able to pull it up and ride in it quite comfortably, and it was certainly large enough to wear over her habitual clothing.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I bought it this morning."

"No one in Sabralant's awake yet. And I don't think Refec can sew."

He sighed. "All right. Some days ago, when I knew you were coming."

Her eyebrows shot upwards. "And you hung onto it even though I said I didn't want to wear one?"

"Yes." His expression was ever so slightly smug. "I suspected you might change your mind."

She was on the verge of handing it back, just to prove him wrong, but hesitated. It looked reasonably practical. And she _really_ didn't want all her skin to peel off.

"Thanks," she muttered grudgingly. "Now get out of my tent."

He obeyed.

She pulled it on quickly. It was way too large, even over her armour. She found a piece of rope and tied it around her waist as a belt, repacked her things into her saddlebags, and exited the tent.

Hers was the only tent still up. Refec and his men were rushing around, packing everything hastily into the carts. Hakim was a short distance away. He'd finished tacking his own mount and had started on Dutch. Amazingly, the little mare seemed completely calm. She had to admit he was a natural with horses.

She jogged over, careful not to spook the horses. "I can finish her."

"I never said you could not." He tightened the girth carefully. Kestral waited for Dutch to bite him, but she just chewed a little on the bit. "There's a hood, you know."

"What?"

"To the tunic." He gestured at the loose fabric hanging down her back. "To protect your face."

She shook her head. "I'm not wearing a hood."

"Lady Kestral -"

"No. Hoods."

"Very well." He patted Dutch's wither. "Shall we ride ahead? I believe Refec can be trusted to catch up."

"Sounds good to me."

...

It took them most of the morning to reach the western cliffs. That was a rather mundane name for them, actually. The massive walls of orange rock reached up to the sky, contrasting dramatically with the bright blue. The oasis Kestral had seen the day before was nestled in a curve in the cliff: the only real colour in a sea of browns.

Further south from the oasis lay the Jum'am excavation. The crumbling walls, little taller than Kestral, formed a rough rectangle next to the cliff. Remains of pillars stood in a row on one edge. A stone entryway, as big as your average house, stood in the side of the cliff. Behind it was only darkness, but she could guess that the tunnel stretched for some distance under the earth.

Kestral turned in her saddle as Dutch jolted along, about to ask Hakim about the tunnel. One look at his face and she stopped.

His mouth was set in a firm line. His expression was one of nothing but blank determination. His eyes, however, belied his seeming calm.

"Are you okay?"

His gaze snapped to her and he lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement. "Why should I not be?"

"Well, I saw you looking at the ruin and you looked ... sad."

Hakim's mouth twisted into a grimace. "That building was once the palace of the princes of Sahir al-Awan. One of my people's greatest architectural masterpieces. I have seen drawings of its former glory, but I had no idea ..." He collected himself. "I did not know it had fallen into such disrepair."

Kestral attempted a sympathetic half-smile, then glanced over her shoulder. Their men were barely visible; a minute cloud of dust on the horizon. They'd be at least an hour.

Their arrival here was noticed far more quickly than it had been at Twanzur. As they cantered between the pillars, a man jogged up to them. He was tall, dark and rather broad; his clothes gave the distinct impression that this was a man who actually did some of the work, unlike their previous negotiation partner. He addressed Hakim in their own language, spreading his hands helplessly.

Hakim pulled his horse to a halt; Kestral did likewise. Her companion greeted the stranger in Janubian. She cleared her throat meaningfully.

Hakim nodded in her direction and asked the man a question. The fellow shook his head.

"He does not speak Westerlin," Hakim said in a lowered tone.

"Fine." She shrugged. "Just keep me updated."

Hakim dismounted and approached, leaving his stallion to stand placidly by a pillar, completely untied. Kestral couldn't help but think that was a tad risky: she'd never trust Dutch like that. She hopped off her mare herself, tied her to a convenient measuring post, and joined the two men.

They were speaking rapidly. Hakim's face was set, but the alarm in his eyes was unmistakable. He turned to Kestral as she stepped close to him.

"Excavations have halted," he explained. "The orb is thought to be at the end of the tunnel, but there have been threats of collapse."

"What are they doing, then?"

Hakim asked the man a question, then turned to her again. "Men have been sent to the oasis to cut wood for supports. But the tunnel will not be secure for some days."

Kestral shrugged philosophically. "Well, we'll have to wait."

"We cannot." Hakim barked out a question to the man, who appeared to apologize. The knight turned away sharply and began to pace between two pillars.

Kestral stepped in his path. "Why can't we wait? There's no hurry, is there?"

Hakim took a deep breath. She'd never seen him look so tense; he appeared ready to explode. Actually, she'd never seen him show this much emotion before. "I had hoped," he said quietly, "that they would have already excavated the orb. We have hours, at the most."

"Why?"

Hakim closed his eyes momentarily, then drew her aside over to the horses. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "Crimson Sabatt is here."

"_What?_" Kestral's jaw slackened. "When? How? She was in Rossotorres only weeks ago!"

"I do not know."

"How did you find out?"

He hesitated for a long moment. "I saw her. Last night."

"And you didn't tell me? Didn't it occur to you that this might be the sort of thing that the person in joint command of this mission _needed to know?_"

"Quiet!" Hakim hissed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now. She was at the Tijah excavation with a dozen men."

"What were you even doing out there?"

"Lady Kestral, this is hardly the time." He glanced over his shoulder at the chief excavator, who was watching them curiously. "She may be here any hour. We need to retrieve the orb. Fast."

It was Kestral's turn to take a deep breath. "Fine. We'll discuss this later. What are we going to do?"

Hakim turned to the doorway into the cliffside. "I have a plan."


	6. Truths

**Author's Note:** Big thanks to Rockerduck for inspiring the final sequence and much of the next chapter, and generally putting up with me. I'd say she rocks, but it's redundant.

* * *

Crimson Sabatt shifted slightly in the saddle as her mount flew across the desert sands. The horse and rider were perfectly in sync, forming a red and black streak.

Sabatt squinted into the distance, shielding her eyes with one elegantly gloved hand. The cliffs to the west were becoming clearer now; a blue-green blur was visible further north, and northwest of her position were the ruins. The Jum'am excavation.

She smiled and urged her mare on.

The Tijah regalia was in her hands already, or close to it. She'd left her men at the dig there, in order to ensure that the excavators didn't try anything as they finished unearthing the crown. She was more than capable of negotiating with the excavators alone.

As she drew near, the excavators appeared to notice her presence. A few disappeared into tents, others stood awkwardly by their tools, evidently wondering whether to flee or fight, and one tall settler in scruffy clothing stepped forward to the large pillars that apparently once formed the front wall.

Squeezing her fingers around the reins, Sabatt sat upright in the saddle. Her horse slowed to a walk, then halted a few feet in front of the chief excavator.

"I presume I am addressing the chief of this operation?" she asked in fluent Janubian. Demeaning as it was to use the local language, there was little hope of these uneducated peasants speaking Guerannan or even Westerlin.

"Yes." The man's voice was deep, and every bit as unsophisticated as she had feared. "I am in charge here."

"Have you recovered the regalia?" There was little point in beating around the bush.

"No." The man looked pale under his tan. She resisted the urge to smirk; she tended to have that effect on people. "The tunnels are near collapse. We have sent men to the oasis to cut wood to shore them up, but it will take some days."

She tapped her hand against her pommel impatiently. Yesterday she would merely have complained about the delay and accepted it. Today, however, the situation was somewhat different.

"Has anyone else been here?"

"A group of soldiers was here this morning, but they have gone to the oasis to resupply." Sabatt's gaze followed his gesture. If she squinted, she could see troops in the colours of the Darion Empire milling around the trees. "I told them the same thing I have told you."

"Who was leading them?" She knew the answer before the words left her mouth.

"A tall man of my people, in black garments; and a young woman with black hair."

Ah. The bandit. That she had not expected. Her mouth twisted into a smile. "Are they with their troops?"

He shook his head. "They went in another direction, on foot. They mentioned traveling to Tijah."

They could not have gone directly there, then: she'd come directly from Tijar and had not seen them. The Southerner evidently had a plan. "Have you made them a promise to deliver the orb?"

"No, we have not."

"Good." She dismounted, then with one swift movement unsheathed her sword and held it inches from his throat. "Are you lying to me?" she asked pleasantly.

"No, my lady," he gasped, taking a step back.

She withdrew her blade. "Good." She remounted, then looked down at him. "If you work swiftly and sell the regalia to me and my forces, you shall be richly rewarded. If, however, you choose to sell it to the Darion Empire, you will find that they cannot protect you."

Without waiting for an answer, she clapped her heels into her steed's sides, swung her mare, and galloped off to the east, dust clouds swirling in her wake.

So, the Southerner was after the regalia. No surprises there. She had already discovered he was a formidable opponent. Good: Sabatt enjoyed a challenge. If he wanted to fight her, she'd be more than ready.

Let the games begin.

…

"I still can't believe you talked me into this."

Hakim turned to her in the dim light, eyebrows raised. "I did not. You insisted on accompanying me."

Kestral swung her lantern around. The tunnel was narrow, with an uneven floor and an unnerving amount of small, scary creatures. They moved slowly through it, Hakim in front. The rock walls and ceiling pressed in on them; the male knight was forced to stoop.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't let you come in here alone and get squished by falling debris."

A short pause. "I find your logic difficult to follow, Lady Kestral. Under the current circumstances, we are now both likely to get squished, as you put it."

His logic was irrefutable. So she chose to ignore it. "Why don't you ever actually call people by their names? You could just call me Kestral, you know. Or even Kes. Just drop all the 'Lady' nonsense."

He shook his head. "I would prefer not to, if it is all the same to you."

"Fine, _Lord_ Hakim."

She tripped over a small stone and narrowly missed crashing into him. He kept walking, not appearing to notice. Or pretending not to. Her cheeks burned as she trotted to catch up.

"What is this tunnel, anyway?"

"It is a natural cave system, but it was expanded hundreds of years ago. As to why, the stories vary. Some say it was a secret passage to the other side of the cliffs that was never completed; others that it was a system of cellars. The more morbid speculate that it was a tomb."

The words were barely out of his mouth when they heard a loud crack. Kestral looked up instinctively. The rock must be beginning to shift. "Which it might end up being. Maybe we should turn back."

"You may go back alone if you wish." His stride did not pause.

"No way I'm letting you get yourself turned into a pancake."

"Very well, then."

She studied the walls. At first there had been side chambers going off from the main tunnel that they were following, which fitted the cellar or tomb theory. Now the walls were unyielding, but, surprisingly, not unadorned. Small snatches of writing and the occasional drawing were scattered across the stone surface.

She paused and held her lantern up to one longer passage. "What's this writing?"

The Janubian turned around and joined her, adding the light of his lantern to hers. "I cannot read it," he said after a moment. His tone sounded disappointed. "It is an older dialect."

"Oh well." She shrugged. "Probably just says 'Ali was here' or something."

He shot a reproving glance at her and began walking again. She followed. The stone above cracked again and she flinched.

"You really, really care about this, don't you?" she asked after a moment.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, if there was a fabled regalia in the mountains of Gallos, I sure wouldn't be crawling through about-to-collapse tunnels to find it. If you're sticking your neck out this far, it must be important to you."

She watched the man ahead of her keep walking. He'd tensed. Her, or the millions of tonnes of rock about to fall on their head?

"Yes," he said, very quietly. "Yes, it is."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "If you care about it so much, why were you willing to risk jeopardising the mission by not telling me Sabatt was here?"

"I thought you said we would discuss this later."

"It _is_ later. Start discussing."

He took a breath, as if about to answer, then hesitated. They walked on in silence for a while.

"What, you're not in love with her or something, are you?"

His voice sounded amused. "Hardly."

"Good. She disturbs me."

He chuckled slightly, but did not respond. Kestral ran her hand along the rock wall. It was rough, pitted, and bone dry – completely different to all the caves she'd ever been in further north.

"You didn't answer the question."

"Lady Kestral, has anyone ever told you that you have difficulty letting go of a matter?"

"Marcus says that at least once a week. But seriously." She took a deep breath. "Lord Hakim, I'm your equal in command of this mission, and I will take over entirely should you do something completely stupid and die. Therefore, hiding stuff from me equals bad idea." She grinned ruefully. "I might be a bandit, but I _can_ be trusted."

"Very well." He seemed to stiffen, then visibly took a breath. "There is certain pertinent information that you deserve to know. But if you breathe a word of it to anyone, _especially _the other knights, I will have no qualms in dealing with you exactly as I would any traitor."

She was about to joke, but there was something very very serious and very very dangerous in his tone. He meant it more than she'd ever heard him mean anything before.

"I won't tell a soul." She was probably going to regret this.

"Thank you." He paused. "Do you remember that I told you the Prince of Sahir was too young to take the throne, and the area was being ruled by a regent?"

"Yes."

"I lied. The Prince is well and truly of age. The reason a regent has controlled the area is that the prince has, until recently, been abroad seeking allies for his nation against the invading forces of the Red Prince." He hesitated. "Specifically, Narlind and Westerlin."

"_What?"_

"I advise you not to shout. It might bring the mountain down on top of us."

Kestral halted. He turned to her and hazel eyes met dark brown.

"You're the Prince of Janub."

"Sahir al-Awan."

"Details." She blinked, searching what she could see of his face. He was telling the truth; of that she was sure. It was insane and unbelievable and utterly out of the blue, but for some reason it all made sense. Everything was snapping into place, all the strings pulling together. "At the Twanzur excavation. You told Sabar."

"Yes." He turned back around and continued into the darkness. "I suggest we keep moving."

"Right." She trotted for a moment to catch up. "Does Her Majesty know?"

"No, she does not."

"Does _anyone_ know?"

"My regent. That is all."

"Somehow being part of the official secrets club doesn't make me feel any better," she mumbled. "So what's the big idea? Get the regalia and unite Janub, or what?"

"That is my basic strategy." They both started as the rocks creaked overhead. "However, I believe we have more immediate priorities than discussing my long term plans."

"Probably right, Princey."

They walked down the tunnel as fast as they could without actually running. Despite the shifting rocks overhead, neither considered turning back for a moment. Kestral wasn't one to quit easily once she had started, and she supposed Hakim, if that was even his name, had too much at stake to give up.

Suddenly, the tunnel sloped rapidly up and to the right. It grew narrower and steeper until it almost seemed as if Kestral would have to crawl up on all fours.

Her foot slipped and she skidded back down a few feet. She stuck out her hand to catch herself, gripping onto a outcropping of rock on the wall. It felt slimy and damp.

"Umm, Princey?"

"I hope you are not addressing me with that phrase."

"Never mind your ego. Why are the walls wet?"

He paused and ran his hand along the wall, then up to the roof. "It is coming from above."

"There isn't another oasis up the top of the cliffs, is there?"

"No." He started climbing upwards again. "But I believe I know what is causing the tunnel collapse."

"What?"

"The oasis further north has to have a source. It is possible that –" He stopped moving abruptly.

"That what?"

"I think our climb is going to get a little more difficult," he said dryly.

"Stop being enigmatic and tell me what's going on. You're completely blocking my view."

"The tunnel is now going directly upward. How good are you at scaling cliff faces?"

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "There's always a first time."

"That does not inspire my confidence." He took an audible breath and scrambled into a standing position so she could only see his boots. His voice sounded muffled. "I suppose that it is useless to ask you to go back?"

"Completely."

"Very well." There was a rustle. His right foot disappeared upwards, then his left. She inched forward a little.

"Dead yet?"

His voice sounded exasperated. "Not that I am aware of, Lady Kestral. There are plenty of handholds."

"Good-oh." She wriggled forward again. "Lemme know when I can climb up."

A few moments later, he called down. "I have reached the top. It is only about fifteen feet up, then it connects to another tunnel."

"Okay. Coming up." She took a deep breath, then mimicked his earlier movements, the lantern bumping into her side as she squeezed through the gap. How Hakim had done it, she had no idea. Soon she was standing in the upward chute. There was barely enough room to raise her arms; the walls were slick and wet as she felt for handholds. It was like standing in a chimney. A cold, wet chimney. So much for the dry walls of earlier.

"Are you all right?"

"Absolutely fine. No reason why I'm hesitating whatsoever."

"Hang the lamp from your arm. The first handhold should be about two feet over your head."

She nodded shakily, slipped the handle of the lantern over her wrist, and felt the wall. "Got it."

_Get a grip on yourself, Kes. It's only fifteen feet._

Deep breath, short pause, then action. She felt around with her foot, got a tiny ledge, then pushed with the other leg and was hanging from the wall. "Now what?"

"Another foot or so up, on the left."

They progressed like that for some minutes. Hakim peered down into the chimney, giving instructions, while Kestral clung to the rock face, trying not to let her fingers slide off the wet stone. After what seemed like eternity, her right hand reached the top. As she began to pull herself up, the ledge under her right foot gave way.

For a sickening moment, she was dangling in mid-air, fingers clinging desperately to the lip. Then she felt Hakim grab her wrists and haul her to safety.

She crawled into the new tunnel, clinging to Hakim a few seconds longer than strictly necessary.

"Thanks," she gasped out, removing the lamp from its position dangling from her elbow. She smiled ruefully. "Sorry. I shouldn't have come. I'm slowing you down."

"It is all right." He stood – this tunnel was actually larger than the one down below – and raised his lantern. "Do you hear that?"

She frowned. "Hear what?"

He shrugged. "It is possible it is my imagination." He set off down the tunnel, Kestral in his wake.

This passage twisted and turned far more than the lower ones. Walls and floor were wet and slippery, with moss growing in the clefts of the rock. She never knew Janub could be this damp.

As they approached another turn, the sound Hakim had mentioned finally caught her ears. "Is that –"

"– running water." Hakim finished the sentence for her with a faintly smug smile as they rounded the bend. Kestral caught her breath.

The tunnel opened into a cavern about the size of a small building, filled with rocky outcroppings, stalactites and stalagmites. A river flowed right through the centre, forming a twenty foot wide barrier to further progress. The other side appeared to be a dead end, though the light from their lanterns was so weak it was hard to tell. Moss grew over everything, forming a thick green carpet.

"Woah," she muttered. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I was." Hakim stepped forward to the edge of the stream and felt the water experimentally. "This must be the source of the oasis. It probably runs right through this cliff, then down into the pool."

"But it's above sea level. That's not possible, is it?"

"You would be surprised how powerful a natural spring can actually be. It is an unusual route for the water to take, but not an impossible one."

"I'm beginning to think nothing's impossible." She joined him and felt the water. It was freezing cold, deadly swift, and deep. "So this is above that tunnel down there and the weight is causing it to slowly collapse?"

He nodded, then looked over to the other side of the cave. His face fell. She followed his gaze questioningly, then groaned out loud.

What had initially looked like a boulder was in fact a dilapidated stone pedestal, mostly covered in moss. Atop it was a roundish shape, gold glinting from the gaps in the algae.

"The orb?"

"I am afraid so."

"Well." She stood up and shrugged. "We're going to have to get wet."

He stood up next to her. There was something distinctly odd in his face. "That may be a problem."

"What, didn't they teach you to swim in the royal court?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I grew up in the middle of the desert. Water survival skills were hardly a high priority."

She groaned again, then the funny side struck her, and she sniggered. Within a few seconds she was laughing as she hadn't for months.

"I fail to see the humour in the situation."

"I'm standing," she gasped out between laughs, "next to a river, in a dark, wet cave, in Janub, with a prince, who can't swim, I'm sunburnt, wearing a stupid tunic, there's probably half an army outside, _and_ we're trying to find a gold ball, which is on the other side of said river and absolutely covered in moss. How can you _not_ see the humour in that?"

"Surprisingly easily."

"Fine." She choked down her giggles, then handed Hakim her lantern. "I take back my earlier apology." Her companion merely rolled his eyes.

She sized up the river. Fast flowing, yes, but not _too_ wide. Nothing she hadn't done before. Lucky she wasn't wearing her shoulder protectors: swimming in them would be a nightmare.

"Wish me luck and all that," she said brightly, then stepped forward.

A moment later, she was up to her waist in freezing cold water, current tugging at her legs. She held in a yelp and felt the ground in front of her with her foot. There was none. _Fabulous._

Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward, drifting a few feet sideways almost immediately as the current caught her. She heaved her arms through the water, kicking out.

For every foot she gained, she was dragged another towards the gap in the cavern wall – the tunnel to the oasis. If she went down there, she was well and truly lost. She swam as fast as she could, arms and legs straining, motions stifled by leather armour, struggling to get her head above water for a breath.

Finally, her hands caught the other side and she scrambled up onto the relatively dry land, panting and shivering.

"Piece of cake," she called across, but this reassuring phrase was somewhat marred by her chattering teeth. The soaked tunic was clinging to her; her jerkin felt uncomfortably sodden. She walked rather shakily over to the pedestal.

She brushed some of the moss away gently. Yes, it was definitely the orb. The lion figure atop it was identical to the one on the sceptre. It would need a good clean before it would shine like its companion, but that would be difficult right now. She picked it up and walked back to the edge of the river.

"Can you swim back carrying it?" Hakim called.

She grimaced. This had not occurred to her when she'd started out on the other side. "Probably not. And there's no way I can throw it to you, Princey, so don't even suggest it." She pulled at the sticky tunic awkwardly, then an idea occurred.

She put the orb down carefully, untied the rope belt, and pulled the tunic over her head.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a bag." She wrapped the orb carefully in the wet fabric, securing it with the rope. "Did I thank you for this thing, by the way?"

"I cannot recall."

"Well, thank yourself, then." She tied the other end of the rope around her waist, then dived back into the water.

This time was no easier. In fact, it was probably worse. Her kicking was impeded by the orb dragging behind her, and she was already stiff and cold. By the time she reached halfway, she was practically numb. When Hakim pulled her out of the water at the other side, she was completely disorientated.

"Thanks," she mumbled groggily, swaying a little.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, supporting her. "Thank yourself."

She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, then opened them again. "I'm fine."

He looked skeptical, but removed his hand. She reached down and picked up the orb. "This is way heavier than it looks."

"It should be. It is solid gold."

She whistled and handed it to him. Then it happened.

It sounded like an explosion beneath the river. The cracks, roars and rumbles of shifting rock filled the cavern. Kestral covered her ears with her hands; even Hakim winced. The ground beneath them quaked and trembled. Kestral looked at the surface of the river and blanched. The water level was slowly descending; small whirlpools were forming on the surface.

"I suggest we run!" Hakim bellowed over the din.

Kestral didn't have to be told twice.


	7. Waters

**Author's Note: **Colds are apparently good for my muse. I wouldn't recommend getting sick as a usual method of writing, but it works for me. Big thanks to Rockerduck for inspiring most of this chapter.

**Blatant and shameless plug:** _The Settlers: Rise of an Empire_ has a new fansite, managed by yours truly. Follow the homepage link from my profile for more Settlers resources, discussion forums, et cetera. Please. It's a bit lonely with only three members.

* * *

On a sudden impulse, Crimson Sabatt sat up in her saddle and squeezed the reins. Her mare obediently slowed, then halted as she tightened her grip.

She could not have imagined that, but it was not possible that the distant rumble was thunder. The sky above was clear apart from the burning sun.

_The tunnel._

She whirled Sombra on the spot and shielded her eyes, squinting back at the cliffs. Everything _looked_ normal. The ruins were still in place; the blue-coated troops were camped at the oasis north of them.

She heard it again: a deep, prolonged crash, like thunder. Or a muffled explosion.

Or falling rocks.

She nudged her heels into her mount's flanks and the mare leaped forward.

…

Kestral barrelled down the cave corridor, lungs rasping, muscles stiff with cold. She could barely see a few feet in front of her face. The rocks roared around her; a moment later the ground shuddered and she stumbled against the wall.

She felt Hakim grab her arm. Shrugging him off, she found her feet and dashed ahead of again. She was shivering violently. Freezing cold and quite possibly about to drown – not quite what she'd expected when she'd been assigned a mission in Janub.

She remembered almost too late and skidded to a stop inches from the lip of the rock chimney. Hakim careened into her; the dim light from the lantern on his arm danced wildly on the walls.

"The cliff," she gasped out, not caring if that was an inaccurate description.

"Take the lamp," he instructed, slipping that object from his arm. He must have left the other one behind.

She took it, hung it from her elbow, then turned and dropped to her knees. Gradually, arms complaining, she lowered herself down into the vertical tunnel.

Then the world came to pieces. The stone slipped under her fingers, water gushed over her, the lamp went out, and then she was falling.

The sickening feeling lasted only for a moment. Her feet struck slick floor and slid out from underneath her. She skidded down the tiny crawl on her back, rocks biting into her back. The lamp, now doing nothing to break the darkness, clattered against the wall and yanked at her elbow.

After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the bottom of the tunnel and plunged feet first into frigid water that cut worse than the stones. She struggled for the surface, muscles aching, and reached the stale air.

"Hakim!" she screamed between gasps, treading the already deep water. The entire lower tunnel must be filling up. A rock from the ceiling splashed into the raging water next to her and she yelped.

A firm hand grasped her flailing arm. He must still be able to stand up, she thought with irrational bitterness. Stupid tall Janubians.

"Where are we?" she yelled over the din of raging waters and falling rocks. One narrowly missed her head; she coughed as the water splashed into her face.

"I do not know, but I suggest we follow the flow." Even while panicking, Kestral could still admire how calm his shout sounded.

…

Hakim was doing his best not to panic. The turbulent water was up to his neck; it would be faster and easier to swim. There was, of course, an obvious flaw in that plan.

Holding onto Kestral with one hand and the bag containing the orb in the other, he began to work his way forward, desperately trying to stay on his feet. The currents hauled at his legs; the pressure on his chest was almost unbearable. He couldn't take much more of this.

A crash sounded behind him in the blackness, then a surge of water slammed into his back. He stumbled and barely regained his footing. It was already several inches deeper than when they had started.

"We're going to have to swim for it," Kestral shouted, echoing his own thoughts. He yelled an affirmative and released her hand, then gave into the current.

He was instantly swept off his feet and forward; it was all he could manage to keep his head above water. Strokes were entirely unnecessary: the river was charging forward at a dizzing pace. He hoped that it was heading towards the outside, or they were as good as dead already.

…

As Hakim let go, Kestral pulled the lamp from her arm and let it dash away into the darkness, then took a deep breath and dived forward into the icy water. She took a few strokes, but quickly realised she didn't need to.

The water tossed her around and spun her in circles, but at least it seemed to be flowing more or less in one direction. She wasn't even sure where Hakim was now. Hopefully Wise Boy was at least capable of keeping his head up.

She slammed into the rock wall with a pained gasp. It was so black she hadn't even seen the side of the corridor. As the water scraped her along the side of the tunnel, her fingers felt out one of the alcoves she'd seen earlier. She clung to the rocky outcropping out of pure irrational instinct and panted faintly. _The more morbid speculate that it was a tomb._

This was _not_ what she had expected from Janub at all.

…

Hakim's fingers were still tightly wrapped around one corner of the makeshift bag. He could feel the precious weight distinctly. He was not letting go. No matter what.

A sudden current yanked at his feet, pulling him down. It was only for a moment – he fought back up to the surface immediately – but it was long enough to provoke a few seconds of sheer, raw panic. He fought down the fear with an effort. He was _not_ going to die. Not here. Not this way.

For a moment, as the water splashed around his face, he thought he saw a glimmer of light in the distance. He blinked. It was still there. So close now. If he could just hang on for a few more moments –

He hit the wall with such force it knocked the wind out of him. Before he had recovered, another current tugged him downwards. He hauled himself upwards, but just as he breached the surface, the bundle was torn from his hand.

He reached out, blindly searching for it. Too late. He'd been swept too far.

He did not panic. He did not feel anything at all.

…

Sabatt was within a quarter mile of the excavation when the workers suddenly began to run north. The distant figures were, one by one, leaving their occupations or emerging from tents and sprinting toward the oasis as if their lives depended upon it. She frowned. What in –

Then the water started gushing from the doorway into the cliff.

After staring in frank shock for a moment, her mouth twisted into an amused smile.

_That_ was not something you saw every day.

…

Hakim stumbled to his feet with a groan, gasping for air. He was standing in water up to his waist in what _used_ to be the ruins. It was now a lake. The sunlight was blinding after what seemed like years in darkness; his soaked clothes weighed a ton.

He had lost it. He had _lost_ the second-most important artifact in all of Janubian history. Not only that, but he had lost his only chance to unite Janub.

He heard another splash behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Kestral was on her feet and apparently unhurt, though her face was white and the slightly muddied water up to her shoulders.

He sloshed forward a few steps and squinted at his surroundings. The staff of the excavation were grouped a few hundred feet away to the north, staring and pointing; Darion's troops were visible over by the oasis. And galloping towards them from the east was a mounted Crimson Sabatt.

A sudden fury took hold of him. His utter hatred of the woman had not abated in the months since he had been her prisoner in Narlind, and now it was fueled with bitterness at his own foolishness.

"Well, look what the buzzard dragged in," he heard Kestral mutter behind him. Ignoring her, he stalked towards the newly-formed shore.

Sabatt pulled her horse to a stop about ten feet from the edge, distinct amusement on her face. He resisted the impulse to attack her on the spot.

"I must admit, Southerner, I'm impressed," she said, chuckling. "I thought Janubians did not lie."

"My friend was under instructions to answer all questions with the exact truth." He could barely keep the contempt from his face.

"I see." Sabatt flipped her hair back over her shoulder and nodded to Kestral. "A pleasure to see you again, bandit."

"Speak for yourself," Kestral growled.

The Red Prince's general shook her head condescendingly. "You really should teach her some manners, Southerner."

Hakim was not in the mood for this. "Stalemate, Sabatt."

"I beg your pardon?" Had anyone ever sounded so supercilious?

He sighed, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his tone any more. "I lost the orb. No one can claim Sahir al-Awan now. Do as you like, but it is all for nothing."

Sabatt stared at him calmly, facial expression not flickering. "How do I know I can believe you?"

"You said it yourself, Sabby." Hakim heard a quiet splash as Kestral took a step forward. "Janubians don't lie." Was he imagining it, or was there a hint of irony in her tone?

"Very well." The general in crimson brushed an invisible speck of dust from her leg, then looked back to Hakim with a smirk. "You are wrong, though, Southerner. This land still can and will be taken by force."

"Good luck with that." Kestral must have pointed towards the oasis, for that was where Sabatt looked. Hakim followed her gaze and saw Refec's troops sprinting across the sand. They would be here any moment.

The Guerannan did not visibly react to the threat. "Enjoy your supremacy while it lasts, Knights of Darion. This land shall soon belong to the Red Prince." She whirled the black mare and horse and rider bolted back the way they came.

Hakim pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a groan. He ignored the sound of Kestral splashing up behind him. Bitter recriminations were coursing through his mind. If only he had gotten here sooner. If only they had moved through the cave faster. If only –

"Hey, Princey." Kestral tapped him on the shoulder. "I think you dropped something."

He spun around. The young woman was grinning irrepressibly. In her hand was the bag containing the orb.

Hakim blinked, then roared with laughter.

_Two down. One to go._

…

Half an hour later, they were riding east. Comfortably warm and dry again, Kestral was mounted on Dutch, trotting alongside Hakim atop his bay stallion. Refec and his troops manned the carts trundling along behind. The orb, due for a polish but safe and sound, was nestled in the cart next to the sceptre. She had had a hard time persuading Hakim to let go of it.

Hakim cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. His face was impassive. "Thank – thank you, Lady Kestral. I am not certain what I would have done had you not been present this morning."

She stared at him. He was _thanking_ her? He'd been happy when she'd shoved it into his hands earlier, sure; probably the happiest she'd ever seen him. But he'd stopped short of actual verbal expressions of gratitude, and she hadn't expected them.

Wow.

"You're welcome, Lord – actually, what am I supposed to call you?"

"Hakim is sufficient."

"Yeah, but that can't be your actual name, right?" She shortened her reins, keeping her eyes on him. "'Cause it would just be stupid to use your real name when you're undercover."

"Your supposition is correct." He stared straight ahead.

"You might as well tell me, or I'm gonna find out from the next random Janubian we pass what the name of their ruler is."

"Very well." He cleared his throat again. "Ammar al-Basir ibn Murtadi ibn Hakim al-Sahir."

"You're kidding me."

"A joke would be pointless in this situation. That is indeed my name. The short variation on it, as a matter of fact."

She gaped. "It's _longer_?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

She resisted the sudden urge to giggle, instead taking a deep breath. "So why Hakim Ad – Ab –"

"Abd-Al Sar."

"Right. Why that alias in particular? There's got to be a million names you could have chosen."

He hesitated. "There was no particular reasoning behind my choice. Hakim was my grandfather's name; I have long preferred it to my own. As for the rest, roughly translated into your language, it means 'of the hood'."

Kestral yanked on the reins abruptly, bringing Dutch to a halt. "Wait, let me get this straight. Your name is a Janubian equivalent of _Robin Hood_?"

He also halted, staring at her with distinct confusion. "Of what?"

"Never mind." The giggles were becoming harder and harder to hold in. "It's just an old Gallos legend, that's all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Far be it from me to hurry you, Lady Kestral, but I believe we decided we wanted to reach Tijar before nightfall."

She laughed out loud now, nudging Dutch back into a trot. "Whatever you say, Robin."


	8. Confrontation

**Author's Note:** Thanks to Rockerduck for beta-reading, and yet again inspiring half the action of the chapter. I need to learn to come up with my own ideas. Thanks also to Hamish McGrath for assistance with fight choreography. He only hit me with the broom handle once.

* * *

"It's more or less impossible."

"That's an ambiguous statement." Hakim shifted and took the telescope from Kestral's hands, raising an eyebrow. "Which do you mean? More or less?"

Kestral rocked back onto her heels, making sure to keep her head well below the level of the boulder. "More." She gestured over the top of the cluster of rocks hiding them from the view of the Tijah excavation. "Those walls might be ruined, but they're still brilliant cover. If we charge 'em, they shoot us. If we shoot from here, they hide from us. And they'll never come out if Crimmy has an ounce of sense. It's a no win situation."

"Lady Kestral, you are a shining beacon of optimism." He raised the glass to one eye and peered cautiously over the boulder.

Kestral knew precisely what he would see. On the other side of the boulder pile was a sheer cliff of about thirty feet. The Tijah excavation was surrounded by red cliffs on three sides; the fourth side opened out onto the desert wastes. A slope of scree about twenty feet away was their best route from here into the valley.

In the valley itself was the rough stone remains of an ancient cloister and outbuildings, a group of excavators' goatskin tents, and at least a dozen of Crimson Sabatt's soldiers. The excavators themselves were nowhere in sight; probably frightened away by Crimmy, Kestral thought sourly.

Their own men stood guarding the supply carts and their horses about thirty feet away from the boulder formation, well out of the sight of anyone in the valley. They had eighteen soldiers and Lieutenant Refec, but Sabatt's strong strategic position negated any advantage their greater numbers would give them.

"Well?" Kestral muttered.

"A direct assault is impossible, yes." Hakim snapped the telescope shut. "But I do not intend a direct assault." His voice lowered to a murmur. "Everyone has their price."

"What?"

He turned, looking her in the eye. "You requested that I include you in decisions on this mission, did you not?"

"Yeah."

"I apologise in advance."

Before Kestral could ask what he meant, he sprang up and clambered on top of the boulder. Kestral sucked in a panicked breath.

"Get down! You'll be –"

"Sabatt!"

His shout echoed in the small valley below. Kestral cringed. "Are you _insane_?"

Her sentiment was evidently echoed by Refec and his company. She heard voices and footsteps rushing behind her.

Hakim held up a hand, still staring down into the valley. The Darion troops halted. Kestral held her breath, fully expecting Hakim to be riddled with arrows. But none came.

Hesitantly, she scrambled to her feet. "Why haven't they turned you into a pincushion yet?"

"You sound disappointed." He cupped his hands to his mouth. "Sabatt!"

Kestral lent over the boulder and looked down. Half a dozen soldiers in red coats had longbows trained on Hakim – and now her as she revealed herself – but none of them loosed their bolts. Another half dozen stood by a cart by the largest tent, watching them warily. In the centre stood a lone crimson figure. Her hand was held up in a caution to the archers.

"Southerner." Even when shouting Crimson Sabatt managed to sound derisive. "I assume you have a good reason for courting an arrow to the head?"

"Your hands are tied, Sabatt, and you know it. The Red Prince cannot spare the resources to take Janub by military force. Without the regalia, your mission here is finished."

"So is yours," came back the response, unhurried and steady.

"Yes. But that can be resolved." He paused. "You have the crown. We have the sceptre, and were able to relocate the orb."

Not precisely a lie, Kestral noted.

"Any attack from either of us would result in heavy losses," Hakim continued. "Your defensive position is too strong for us to assault, but we outnumber you in the open. It is not worth the risk."

"Then what do you suggest?" Sabatt stood as calmly as if she was in her own citadel. Fair enough, thought Kestral bitterly. The Red Prince's general had the upper hand here. Both she and Princey could be riddled with sharp pointy objects at any moment if Sabatt decided to give the order.

"Combat by champion, so to speak."

Kestral turned to Hakim, opened her mouth, then closed it again. He continued, apparently unaware of her reaction.

"You and I resolve this in a duel. The winner may claim all three regalia, while the loser retreats to the coast and leaves Sahir al-Awan immediately."

For an agonising moment, the desert was silent. A slight breeze ruffled Kestral's hair. She resisted the urge to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear, unreasonably fearful that any movement would remove the spell that seemed to be on the archers below.

The Guerannan woman placed a hand on her hip. "I accept your challenge." Kestral wished she was close enough to read her face. "If you come down to the excavation, my men shall not fire or otherwise attack you."

"Do you give your word?"

"Naturally. And you the same?"

Hakim nodded. "Yes."

"Very well." Sabatt turned back towards the tent in an obvious dismissal, then spun back around a moment later. "You have my permission to bring the bandit."

"Why, you –"

Hakim placed a restraining hand on Kestral's arm before she could finish the sentence. She winced, sunburnt skin stinging.

…

Hakim left his sword in his sheath as he descended the rocky slope. It was not that he trusted Sabatt. Quite the opposite. It was entirely possible that she would see a naked weapon as an excuse to attack immediately.

Refec and his men were beginning to come down the hill, carefully guiding the carts over the uneven surface. Kestral walked a few feet behind Hakim, muttering something under her breath about high and mighty Guerannans. He schooled his expression. A smile was hardly an appropriate response to a situation such as this.

Kestral's mumbled tirade halted. "Wise Boy?"

"You have an interesting habit, Lady Kestral, of addressing people with epithets instead of names."

She jumped over a small boulder and moved alongside him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He glanced at her briefly. "If I did not, I would not have suggested it."

"But you might –" She made a vague gesture in the air with her hand. "Get skewered with that pointy sword of hers."

"It is a possibility." He halted, turning to her. Yes, that was definitely concern in her eyes. He wasn't certain if that was gratifying or disturbing. "There was also a distinct possibility of both of us becoming pancakes, as you so elegantly put it, in the tunnel this morning. We are still hale and hearty."

She bit her lower lip, then released it. "But –"

"Lady Kestral." He forced a smile. "I have fought Sabatt before and come away unscathed. I am confident of my success this time." And he was. He would win; he was certain of it. So why did he feel like he was reassuring himself as well as her?

"If you're sure." She sighed with a lopsided smile. "Just keep away from the sharp end, all right? I'd hate to have to cart your corpse back to Westerlin."

He relaxed a little, smile becoming real. "I shall keep that in mind."

…

Sabatt was waiting by the outermost wall. The sunlight glinted on the hilt of the rapier swinging from her side. Her expression was blank, but Hakim was certain there was something more in her eyes. Fear? Not her. Desperation?

_A trapped enemy is the most dangerous of all._

"So you _did _bring the bandit."

Hakim shot an arm out, halting Kestral's sudden lunge. "That is hardly relevant, Crimson Sabatt."

"Very well." The tall woman unsheathed her sword smoothly and weighed it in her hand. "Shall we begin?"

In answer, Hakim reached behind his head and drew his scimitar.

…

They began cautiously. Both knew each other's abilities, and mistakes made once before would not be reprised. They circled each other for several seconds. Neither was willing to make the first attempt to strike, for it was certain that it would fail.

Hakim glanced around; Kestral and the Westerlin soldiers had grouped off to the side, the carts at the bottom of the slope a short distance away. Sabatt's men were scattered around the area, like a noose waiting to be tightened.

He attacked first, slashing with the full strength of his arm. She side-stepped and countered. He parried and backed away, then they were circling again.

They soon moved into a steady rhythm. Sometimes she'd thrust, sometimes he'd slash, but the result was always the same. Dodge, counter, dodge. Sabatt spun and twisted elaborately, ever a few inches from his blade, fountains of dust springing up behind her heels. He kept to economical parries. There was no sense in tiring himself unnecessarily.

Sabatt seemed to tire of the pattern. She thrust straight and true. He parried within an inch of his life, shoved her blade downwards with his, twisted his arm, and brought the hilt of his scimitar squarely into her jaw.

She staggered and nearly fell back. He swung. Thin air. She'd converted her fall into a graceful roll across the sand. She came up in a cloud of sand, wiping blood from the side of her mouth.

"That," she hissed, "hurt."

"That was the intention."

She snarled and thrust again. He side-stepped neatly. Same old dance.

But he had to make an end soon. The sun beat down hard; sweat trickled down his forehead. Already his throat was dry. This was no time for games.

She was close now, the distance between them but a few feet. He sliced. Sabatt skipped sideways. A silver blur snaked towards him.

Steel on skin burned like hot iron. He winced and stepped back, then glanced down. A slice through the fabric of his left sleeve; a splash of red.

"Had enough?" Sabatt's voice was pleasant.

He answered with a dash forward and a swipe at her legs. She jumped the blade and skittered away with a sneer.

A new pattern. No longer were they cautious, no longer did they dance. Each ducked, spun, struck with the fury of a sandstorm. Hakim's teeth were clenched. Every movement of his injured arm stung; his sleeve was growing damp. The scream of steel echoed again and again in his ears.

She left an opening. He stepped forward; sudden glaring light stabbed into his eyes. His blade slashed blindly through nothingness. A clink of metal, a gasp, a thud, a rush of footsteps on sand.

Hakim staggered back, blinking. It took a moment for his vision to return. Sabatt's rapier lay in the sand next to a green-fletched arrow. The lady herself was staring at Kestral. Who was lowering her bow.

He heard a scuffle behind him and spun. Lieutenant Refec had his sword at the throat of a red-coated soldier; several other of the Red Prince's men had been restrained.

His head snapped back around as Sabatt spoke. _"That_ was blatant interference."

Kestral's tone was a familiar scoff. For some inexplicable reason he felt a rush of relief. "And _that_ isn't, Crimmy?" She pointed to Refec and the soldier. "They were making for the cart! And don't think I didn't see that mirror trick!" She turned to a lieutenant standing by a collapsed wall, hands behind his back. "Hand it over. And next time you're trying to blind someone, keep your means _hidden_."

The man looked to Sabatt, who was glaring at him. "I told you to be _discreet_, Riaguero," the Guerannan woman said, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, ma'am." The fellow tossed a small mirror on the ground with a defiant glance at Kestral.

Hakim turned to Sabatt. His eyes still ached, and his arm stung, but the pain only fuelled his fury. "You gave your word."

"That my men would not _attack_ you," she corrected, returning his glare. "I said nothing about other interference."

"It's still a breach of honour," Kestral interjected, striding forward and reaching for Sabatt's discarded rapier. The Red Prince's general made a dash for it, but the smaller woman got there first, snatched it up and aimed it at Sabatt.

"_You_ speak of honour, rogue?" Even with the point of a rapier two feet from her chest, Sabatt did not flinch.

"You're lucky I missed just before. I was _planning_ to skewer you," Kestral hissed, moving the blade a few inches closer. "Don't make me try again."

"That's enough, Lady Kestral." Hakim sheathed his sword, wincing at the strain the movement placed on his left arm. "Crimson Sabatt, will you give up the regalia and retreat to the coast as agreed, or must I escort you to Jumajir in irons?"

Sabatt drew herself up further, dignified even in defeat. "I shall withdraw, Lord Hakim." Her face twisted into a wry smile. "You have won the day. You need not fear my further intervention."

"Then get outta here." Kestral scowled.

Hakim opened his mouth to back her up, and realised he was shaking. Now the tension of battle was over, all the energy was rapidly draining from his body. He took a wobbly breath. "I concur. If you would?"

Sabatt shot him one last inscrutable glance, snapped out an order in Guerannan, then strode over to a hitching post at the other side of the camp and began to untie her mare. Her men grouped into a semblance of formation, several shooting angry looks at the Darion soldiers. Lieutenant Riaguero, as Sabatt had called him, stepped into a tent and reappeared a moment later with a large bundle. Kestral took it from him, peered inside, then nodded.

Sabatt rode over a few moments later. She saluted ironically to Hakim, raised an eyebrow at Kestral, then jabbed her boots into her mount's sides. The black mare set off up the hill at a trot, followed closely by the retreating soldiers.

Hakim closed his eyes for a brief second, steadying himself.

"You okay?"

"Yes." He opened his eyes. Kestral was hovering at his elbow, seemingly poised to catch him. A chuckle escaped his lips. "I am not going to collapse, Lady Kestral. You needn't be concerned."

She relaxed. "Good. 'Cause I think you'd squash me." She grinned up at him. "Well? You did it."

"Did what?"

She slapped his good arm. "And I call you Wise Boy. We've got it. The crown. The whole package. You did it."

He felt a grin spread across his face. "You are incorrect."

"Huh?"

"It would be a complete falsehood for me to take the entire credit for this."

"Are you _thanking _me _again_?" Her incredulous expression was belied by the twinkle in her hazel eyes.

"Precisely. _We _did it."

"Wow." She laughed and spun Sabatt's rapier experimentally. "This has been a _weird _day."

He couldn't disagree.


	9. Clash

**Author's Note:** Wow. On the home stretch now! One more chapter to go ...

Thanks to Rockerduck for beta-reading, as usual.

* * *

They stayed at Tijah overnight. The tents were already set up, and there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good campsite.

That was how Refec had put it, anyway. The archer had grinned uncharacteristically as he'd made the comment. His good mood quite possibly stemmed from the promise of a break in Jumajir, capital city of Sahir al-Awan. Hakim had pointed out the necessity of delivering the regalia to a safe location as soon as possible, and Kestral agreed.

The young woman slept like a log. The ordeal in the tunnel at Jum'am had taken a greater toll on her than she'd realised. Sun glared through the gaps in the poorly-made tent several hours before she would have liked.

She rolled off her camp bed with a groan, staggered to her feet, and dressed rapidly. Being last up _again_ was the last thing she wanted. Hakim – she was still calling him that mentally, and probably would never stop – was likely prepared to depart and ready with something snarky to say as soon as she left her tent. "Good evening, Lady Kestral," or something like that.

So it was a surprise when she stepped outside her tent and saw the entire camp bustling around packing – all _except_ Hakim.

"Hey, Refec." She gestured to the lieutenant, who halted in his route past her.

"Ma'am?"

She considered chewing him out for that and decided against it. "Has Lord Hakim headed out on his own again?"

Refec shook his head. "No, ma'am. I have not seen him leave his tent." He glanced around. "And his horse is still here."

"Weird." A sudden worry sprung up and would not be squashed. "Get us packed. I'll check on him."

...

Knocking was not an option with tents. She hit the flap; the fabric flapped noisily.

"Come in."

Well, he _sounded_ fine.

She slipped through. Hakim was almost dressed, just pulling his boots on. He glanced up at her. "Yes?"

"Nothing. You're just normally up before this."

"I slept late." He picked up his sheathed sword and stood.

"How's the arm?" She gestured to the tear in his sleeve. A bloodied bandage showed through the rent in the fabric; the sleeve itself was darkly stained.

"It looks worse than it is." He strapped the sword to his back. Pain flickered in his eyes as his arm shifted. Then his met hers and amusement surfaced.

"Lady Kestral, you are hovering like a mother hen with a single chick."

She flushed. "I'm just making sure you won't keel over halfway to Jumajir."

"Your lack of faith in my physical endurance is disheartening." He strode past her to the door. "Shall we go?"

She followed him out, shaking her head with a grimace.

...

They reached Jumajir a few hours after noon. Desert gave way to sparse grass and trees; pastures, grain fields and beekeeper's huts lined the sides of the cobbled road. The walls of the city came into view as they rounded the bottom of a cliff. The circle of white stone gleamed in the light like a pearl.

It was less lustrous up close, however. The battlements were crumbling, and the orange tiles atop the gate were chipped and worn. Hakim rode under the portcullis first, trailed by Kestral and the men with the carts.

The cobbled road to the marketplace was lined with wooden buildings of all shapes and sizes. They passed the cathedral, green and grey; then rode out into the open yet paradoxically crowded marketplace. From the open door of the wooden storehouse to the half-dry fountain, the area was filled with people. The strange caravan attracted a lot of attention: settlers peered through windows, pointed from doors, and paused their discussions by the fountain to watch its progress.

"So this is your home, right?" Kestral jabbed her heels into Dutch's sides, bringing the little mare alongside Hakim's mount.

"Once." His face was impassive. Either he was trying to hide the fact his arm hurt like crazy, or he was attempting to discourage the blatant scrutiny from the townspeople. Probably both. "I have spent little time here in recent years. It feels rather -" He hesitated.

"Weird?"

"Not the word I would have chosen, but yes."

They passed a deserted-looking barracks and turned down a road to the massive stone edifice that was Jumajir Castle. Well, the people here probably had a different name for it, Kestral reflected. Something unpronounceable to anyone with a Westerlin accent.

It was made from the same white stone as the walls, and looked almost as dilapidated. The ornate gateway was hung with fading banners; several cobbles in the courtyard were cracked across. Yet for all its wear and tear, the palace still held an air of pride: faded glory that might one day re-emerge, given the chance.

Kestral was suddenly conscious of her red skin, matted hair and sand-scarred clothing. It was all very well for Princey. No one would think any the less of him for entering his own castle capeless with a bloody sleeve and dust on his boots. But for her …

Wise Boy's comment the previous day about her unusual attire leaped to mind, and she glanced down, cheeks warming.

This was going to be awkward.

...

She need not have worried. The palace staff were polite, if obviously curious about the strangers from the Darion Empire. Not one spoke a word of Westerlin, and Kestral was forced, much to her chagrin, to allow Hakim to arrange for the regalia to be brought into the palace and accommodation to be found for the men.

"Will the Prince see you and Lord Hakim, ma'am?" Refec had said to Kestral, completely and fortunately oblivious to the air of deference towards the Janubian from everyone in the castle. For once, Kestral was relieved none of the men understood the local language.

"I think he will," she'd replied, forcing a nonchalant shrug. "I don't think he has much choice."

She joined Hakim in a reception room inside. Everything in the castle was much the same as outside: clearly once impressive and vibrant, but now faded and worn. Tapestries, ornaments, curtains and paintings – all looked simply _tired_. Like her, actually.

Hakim turned to her as she entered and smiled faintly. She noted he looked just as uncomfortable at home as he did in Vestholm.

"Nice place." She joined him by the window. The view from here was far more interesting than any decoration inside the castle itself: the stone wall ended almost at the edge of a cliff. Below stretched endless desert sand, occasionally broken by familiar cliffs and rock formations.

He glanced down at her, clearly amused. "It looks little better than the excavation sites."

She laughed. "I was _trying_ to be polite." She gestured out the window. "Can't deny the views are good, though."

Whatever he had been about to say was replaced by a sudden widening of his smile, directed over her head. Kestral spun around. A man in traditional Janubian dress stood in the massive doorway. He was well into middle age, with a greying beard and a kindly expression.

Hakim strode past her and greeted the new arrival in his own language, shaking his hand warmly. They made small talk for only a moment; the older man exclaiming in horror at the other's wound and Hakim dismissing it. Kestral looked awkwardly off to one side, suddenly aware that she was staring. Whoever this man was, Princey quite clearly knew him well. No bowing and scraping from him.

Hakim turned, gesturing to Kestral. "Lady Kestral of Gallos; Abdul Rasheed ibn-Ali al-Namib. My regent," he added.

The man glanced at Hakim in clear surprise. "You have divulged your identity to this young lady?" His Westerlin was even more heavily accented than Princey's.

Hakim raised an eyebrow. "Considering the situation, it would have been foolhardy not to. She can be trusted."

The regent – Kestral had forgotten his name already – turned to her and bowed. "At your service."

Kestral, uncertain of the etiquette of greeting the regent of a principality, attempted a bow of her own. Hakim did not react, so she guessed it was close enough.

The regent smiled briefly, then turned back to Hakim. "I take it you were successful?"

"Entirely. The regalia has already been taken for restoration."

"My congratulations, Your Highness. And the enemy?"

A brief frown flitted across Hakim's face, disappearing as fast as it appeared. "Routed. But this is hardly a place for such discussion."

"As you wish." He glanced at Kestral, then back at Hakim. "Might I suggest repairing to the library? The maps are available if you wish to discuss strategy."

"That," said Hakim, "sounds ideal."

…

Now this was more like it. Whatever the rest of the Jumajir palace might be like, the library was a room Hakim need not be ashamed of. Kestral's eyes scanned the walls of books and dark wood furniture as she imagined what Alandra's reaction to this would be. She stifled a laugh. They'd never get her out.

Hakim stepped over to a rack of maps, selected one, turned to the largest of the tables and spread it out with a flourish. He was still favouring his left arm.

"Juahar is the largest stronghold to the west," he mused. "With the regalia, we would have little difficulty securing that area. From there, it would require only a relatively small force to unite the entire of Janub within a year."

"That's not really a priority, though, is it?"

Both men looked up at Kestral, distinct surprise in their expressions. Hakim's right eyebrow was in the middle of his forehead. "Why would it not be?"

"Umm, hello? War in Raudrlin." She took a deep breath. "Before I left, Marcus and Alandra were speculating about the possibility of liberating Montecito. If they do that, Darion could take Gueranna or even Rossotorres. You should be there."

"I have obligations here, Lady Kestral."

"But you're a Knight of Darion as well. We need you right now."

Hakim was staring at her like she'd just announced her intention of running off and marrying a bear. She turned to the regent. "You could run Sahir for a few more months, right?"

The older man looked incredibly awkward. He glanced at Hakim, whose face was now a mask, then back at her. "Well …"

"The question is irrelevant, because I will be here." Hakim straightened up.

Sudden anger burned in Kestral's chest. "So that's it, then?"

"What?"

"You're just going to quit. Now that you've gotten what you wanted out of the Darion Empire, you're going to leave it to its fate."

"Lady Kestral, that is not what I –"

But her blood was up. Sick realisation after sick realisation tumbled into her mind as she frantically recalled every moment of the past three days – no, the past months. Ever since she'd first set eyes on Hakim in Narlind. "You only wanted to ally with Westerlin so that Janub could be reunited. You've been planning this since I pulled you out of that dungeon in Kyrkasund!" She could hear her voice growing higher and faster as fury mixed with horror. "You've been _using_ us!"

He didn't move. Face tense, he stared at her with a strange mixture of emotions struggling in his eyes.

"Well?" Her heart slammed against her ribcage; her breath was coming in shorter gasps. "Can you deny it?"

He blinked. Blood boiling, she continued.

"You don't actually care if the Red Prince takes over the rest of the world, do you? Just that your precious Janub is safe! Do you even care what happens to Vestholm? Her Majesty? Elias? Thordal? Alandra? Marcus? Me?"

"I do." His voice was soft. She stared at him, chest suddenly hurting.

"Then why didn't you tell us the truth? So much for Janubian honesty! It's just been all one big _lie!_"

Hakim flinched. Out of the corner of her eye, Kestral saw the regent make a quiet withdrawal through a side door. So much the better.

"It was necessary."

"Why? 'Cause you thought we'd all see through your little scheme if you told us?" She laughed bitterly. "To think everyone spent their time worrying if _I_ could be trusted when they should have been looking at _you_!"

"Lady Kestral, I have never given the Darion Empire reason to mistrust –"

"Oh, so breaking alliances and deserting from the army is fine, then. Sorry. My mistake."

Hakim's hand, resting on the edge of the table, abruptly tensed into a fist. His eyes hardened.

Kestral's stomach was churning. "You promised your aid and you're leaving us to drown. Not once have you done anything for us that wasn't self-interested. I should have just left you to rot in that dungeon."

"I suppose you would have preferred it if I'd left you to be cut to pieces by that sandstorm as well," he said darkly.

"Yes, please. And I never would have bothered _risking my life_ to save that orb of yours if I'd known that you were just going to throw it back in my face! For once, I'm actually wishing Crimmy succeeded at something!"

"Killing me, you mean."

Was that really what she'd meant? Did she actually want that?

"You're worse than her! At least Sabatt has the guts to be _upfront_ about how she plans to _stab you in the back_!"

The resent in his face abruptly transformed. His expression shifted through a whole spectrum of emotions: surprise, disbelief, the briefest flicker of something unidentifiable, and finally raw fury.

"Forgive me," he snapped, white under his tan, "if I do not take moral advice from a bandit."

Her balled fist connected with his face with all the strength of an archer's arm. She regretted it instantly as he stepped back, feeling his jaw, glaring at her so hard it hurt.

She took a step back, knuckles aching, air scorching her lungs. "Now you can have a bruise to match hers. You two would make a _lovely_ couple."

"I think," he whispered, "you should go."

Kestral turned and ran from the room, sprinting down the stone corridor.

She was not crying. She was _not_ crying.


	10. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Thanks to Rockerduck for editing and Crimmy-taming. More detailed notes at the end.

* * *

Crimson Sabatt stroked the neck of her mare absently. Sombra huffed a little, leaning into her hand.

Horse and rider stood at the top of the cliff, looking out over the blue sea. The morning sun warmed her cheek and sent long shadows reaching across the rock. A caravel flying Westerlin colours was anchored in the bay; the Darion Empire's soldiers were grouping on the beach below.

Sabatt glanced behind her. The dozen men still left to her were sheltering in the ruins of an ancient outpost atop the orange clifftops. Appropriate, really. The whole expedition had been a wreck, a shambles. The Red Prince had given orders; she'd followed them; and everything had gone wrong from start to finish.

Well, she had been a _little_ creative with her instructions. But not enough to affect their success. She echoed her horse's sigh bitterly. The campaign in Janub was over. The Red Prince would have to make do without the trinkets or the country.

Not that that was a problem. In fact, quite the opposite. The Southerner was loyal to a fault. He would stay in Janub and ensure that the country was united. With him out of the way, the Darion Empire would be that much easier to defeat – he was easily the most capable of their little band of Knights.

Sabatt swung into the saddle, nudged Sombra's sides and shouted an order. Riaguero, standing in the shadow of the ruins, saluted and barked out instructions to pack up and go.

It was far from the end of the war. There was a hundred ways she could win this. Perhaps, after Gueranna was safe and Westerlin crushed, she'd return to this wasteland and have her revenge on the Southerner. And the bandit. She felt her bruised jaw gingerly. Oh, no, her tale was not over yet.

She was Crimson Sabatt and she would not yield.

…

Kestral flexed her right hand, glaring at her bruised knuckles as if they were to blame for all of this. A crab scuttled past her feet; she stepped back reflexively.

Boats were putting out from the caravel now as she, Refec, her men, and two half-empty carts waited on the beach. She was about to wipe Janub's dust from her feet forever. Good riddance.

No. No, it wasn't.

"Lady Kestral?"

She turned to Lieutenant Refec, who was lugging a box full of who-knew-what. "Yes?"

"Pardon me, ma'am, but why aren't we waiting for Lord Hakim?"

She held in a sigh. "'Cause he's not coming."

"But –"

"Lord Hakim's got a country of his own to fight for." She raised an eyebrow at her subordinate. "He's got to decide where his loyalty lies himself."

Refec opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded. "I see, ma'am." He withdrew respectfully.

Kestral groaned inwardly, staring blankly out at the distant blue horizon.

It sounded so _reasonable_ when she put it that way to Refec. Just a choice. A choice he'd made just as she had all those months ago. Just because he'd made a different one than she had didn't mean he was wrong.

But he'd manipulated her and the rest of the Darion Empire for all they were worth. That – that was ...

A hot wind blew black hair into her face. She adjusted her headscarf, snapped out a warning to a careless soldier about to overturn a cart, and tried to control her whirling thoughts.

The ship's boats beached. Refec barked an order and the soldiers began to load the boats with crates and bags. They'd used less than half the supplies they'd landed with – she'd thought they'd be staying at least a week. So much for that.

One of the bowmen – Felwood, that was his name – led Dutch past her towards the rowboat. The little mare walked suspiciously obediently, head bobbing with every step.

Suddenly, Dutch's head snapped up and she shied sideways, prancing so she was facing the way she came. Kestral rolled her eyes – she'd seen _that_ coming – and stepped forward to assist the hapless Felwood, but halted as her mount let out a shrill whinny.

That was a _greeting_.

She spun around. Small on the horizon, clouded in dust, was a horse and rider.

A black-clothed rider on a bay horse.

The smile tugged at her lips before she could stop herself; relief welled up inside her chest. A moment later, the grin disappeared as still-raw anger, tempered with a twinge of guilt, mixed in.

She waited as Hakim rode up, halted his stallion and dismounted. He took the reins and approached cautiously, nodding at Refec as the lieutenant saluted.

He looked tired. There was a thickening under his left sleeve that told of the bandages beneath; an ugly bruise marred his jaw.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Hello," Kestral said finally.

"Hello."

She grimaced, fingering her own jawbone automatically. "That – that looks like it hurts."

"It does."

"Sorry."

"I deserved it." He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "You were right. Yesterday. I – what I did was wrong. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. All of you."

She remained silent, suddenly finding a broken shell very interesting.

"But I – it's too late now. I'm committed to this charade."

"I understand."

"Do you?" She continued to avoid his gaze. "Kestral."

Eyes locked. "Yes," she whispered. "You have to choose. I see that."

"You still blame me." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"No. Yes." She closed her eyes for a second. "I can't like what you did. But I can understand why." She gestured hopelessly. "We would have helped you without the act. You didn't need to manipulate us."

"I know that. Now." A long pause."I'm sorry."

His eyes were brown wells of guilt. He meant it, and the last pieces of hard anger remaining in her heart melted quietly away.

A throat cleared behind her. She turned to face Refec, who saluted. "Ready when you are, Lady Kestral."

"Okay." She exhaled, then turned back to Hakim. "Well. I suppose this is goodbye."

Hakim raised an eyebrow. It looked so wonderfully _normal_ that her breath caught.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you staying here?"

"On that topic." He flushed slightly. "I have been … considering … the wisest course in this situation. For all involved. And the current political circumstances." Was he _stammering?_ "And I have come to the conclusion – on discussion with my officials – that Sahir al-Awan can survive under a regent for a few more months."

It took a moment for it to sink in. "You're coming."

He smiled ruefully. "I'm coming." A brief hesitation. "It is true that I do not take moral advice from bandits. I do, however, take advice from a fellow Knight of Darion."

She threw her arms around him before she realised what she was doing. The stallion threw up his head with a startled snort.

"Kestral."

"Yeah?"

"Applying pressure to a sword wound has a regrettable tendency to cause significant pain."

She released him quickly, a thousand apologies bubbling out. Hakim chuckled, though his face was still twisted in a grimace.

"Forgiven." He met her eyes hesitantly. "Might I ask the same favour?"

She grinned widely. "Forgiven, Wise Boy."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now get in the boat already. We've got a war to win!"

He bowed, a distinct twinkle in his eye. "As you wish, Lady Kestral."

* * *

**Author's Note, Part 2: **Well, it's been roughly eight months and almost 23,000 words, and it's been a wild ride. _Loyalty and Legend_ is my longest complete story ever, and it's also the one I've had the most fun writing. The learning curve has been huge – I had to write _action scenes_ – but it's been fantastic.

I've said it before, but it's worth repeating: thanks to Rockerduck for beta-reading and providing hundreds of suggestions when my brain fails. Cookies are owed. Big thanks also to heatherek for convincing certain people that Hakim/Kes works, and for providing advice with regard to said relationship. This story could never have been written without either of you!

And, of course, thanks to the Blue Byte developers who created these characters in the first place. I wonder what you'd think if you read this ...


End file.
